


Ad Mundum Nostrum Nunc

by Davechicken



Series: Nunc Stamus Ad Limen Huius [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Set during End!Verse, Set during season eight, Set during season nine, Set during season seven, Set during season six
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 55
Words: 119,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1560317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Whatever you do, you will always end up... here. No matter what choices you make, whatever details you alter, *we* will always end up... here."</p><p>Following on from Stamus ad Linem, Castiel and Crowley must work with Cecily, Sam, Dean, Gadreel, Kevin and Linda... because Abaddon has freed Lucifer and Hell is now on Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Latin is from the Purgatory spell again, and it translates as 'Now towards our world'.
> 
>  

"You said... what now?" Dean asked, taking a half-step towards Cecily, fire in his eyes.

For her part, Cecily took a full step back, all but cringing under Crowley's wing for protection. "It's not my fault! It's not my fault!" she bleated, clearly traumatised.

Crowley tutted at Dean, then ran a hand up and down her arm. "No one's saying it is, sweetheart. No one's saying it is. It's just a bit of a shock to the system, is all."

"...'Bit of a shock'?" Dean asked. "Yeah, try _freaking end of the world_?"

"Maybe we would not be in this situation if you had worked with Crowley and myself, instead of concealing things, and tricking us," Cas pointed out, snippily, from where he was still perched on the bed.

"Whatever's the reason, or whoever is to blame, the fact remains we've got a serious problem on our hands," Sam said, trying to be the voice of reason. "We need... uh. We need to find a way to stop Lucifer."

"Look how well that turned out last time," Dean huffed.

"Hang on, boys, stop being Negative Nancies," Crowley jumped in. "We're unfortunately stuck with the hand that fate deals us... unless we opt for time travel, but as our opponents have just as much - if not more - capability in that department, I really don't want to start an Out-Back-To-The-Future war, in case we give Lucifer ideas about ending sentient life ever evolving in the first place."

"Yeah, but how in the Hell do we win this time?" Dean asked, arms folded over his chest. "Because, if I remember, last time you had a cunning plan about dealing with your ex-boss, it kinda went SNAFU and we all nearly died."

"That was a minor error in judgement, I agree," Crowley said with a sigh. "But now we know that archangels can, in fact, die."

"...I killed Raphael when I had half of Purgatory inside of me," Cas said, his voice subdued. "I think it would be unwise to repeat such a thing, considering what happened later. Even if we could somehow ignore the souls of the Leviathans."

"I'm saying ixnay on the Odgay," Dean said, before Cas could even finish his refusal. "No, nope and no way."

"That's not the only way an archangel died, although I do agree it's a possibility," Crowley said, trying his best to be patient.

"You mean, Gabriel?" Sam asked. "Lucifer killed him. We don't know how, but if Cas could kill Raphael with the souls, then we gotta guess it was similar. And that means we either need a super-powered angel, or we need another archangel. And the only other archangel? Is Michael. He... he won't want to help us. He was Hell-bent on the Apocalypse, you know."

"Sam... you were with Lucifer in the Cage. Don't you... don't you have any memories of Gabriel's death?" Crowley asked. "I only ask because it seems to be the last hope we have. Death helped us out once, but even he wasn't prepared to kill Lucifer, just to help us trap him."

"No... no I don't remember any of it."

"Are you sure? Because... well. I know a bit about how possession works from the demonic side of things, and so... Cas? You wanna help us out here?"

"I... deliberately did not attempt to interfere with Jimmy Novak's memories, or past life, because I believed it to be an intrusion," Cas said, slowly. "There were... things I could sense, and things I indeed already knew, but I did not... I did not want to violate his personal life any further. And also, you must remember I was the angel in the situation, not the vessel."

Sam's eyes flashed blue, and everyone jumped. Everyone including Cecily, who squeaked in terror.

"No, no, it's okay," Crowley told her, guiding her down to sit on the bed in case she toppled over. "This is Gadreel."

Cecily nodded, and when Cas put his hand on her back, she offered him a weak smile in response.

"I am speaking with permission," the angel said. "Although I am also the angel in the situation, Castiel is not quite correct. He was the vessel for me, however briefly, and I know you had some awareness of my past, even if it was not detailed."

"...yes. Yes, you're right," Cas agreed. "But I don't know that I could remember anything but vague... impressions, now."

"Perhaps not, but I am with Sam. It is possible I could access the memories myself."

"Is this such a good idea?" Dean asked. "I mean, last time anyone - no offence, Cas - let Sam remember what went on in the Cage? He sort of went... he sort of went crazy, and started hallucinating Lucifer all over the damn place. And the only way to fix his gourd was have an angel take on the whacko."

"I believe... I believe I could assist, by acting as a filter. We do not, in fact, want to remember the Cage. We wish to access Lucifer's memories prior to that event."

"What does the Moose think?" Crowley asked. 

A little shake of Sam's head, his hair briefly obscuring his face as his whole expression changed. "I think... I think maybe it's our only chance, right? Unless the First Blade would work on Lucifer?"

Cas rubbed his arm, anxiously. "I... I don't know if it would. We... we could try..."

"We don't even have the Blade yet," Crowley said. "We could work both angles at once. And... and see if there's anything on that tablet of Kevin's. How far along is he in translating it?" 

"Pretty much done," Sam said. "I checked on him this morning."

"Anything that could help?"

"Not that he told me."

"It sounds to me like we should do as Crowley suggested. We should see if the tablet contains anything, we should continue searching for the Blade, and we should... consider accessing Lucifer's memories."

"Is everyone ignoring the elephant in the room?" Cecily asked, her voice shaky.

Cas knew this time it wasn't a real elephant. "What do you mean?"

"Well... we're all on about Lucifer, and sort of Abaddon, but isn't there another player we need to consider?"

"Metatron," said... it did not sound like Sam. "He will be aware of Lucifer's return, as will Bartholomew."

"Oh, yeah, great." Dean rolled his eyes. "Just what we need. You reckon the feathery flock will follow him, considering there's no Michael, and they all freaking had a hard on for the Apocalypse last time?"

"It is... a distinct possibility," Gadreel agreed. 

"So we gotta work out if he's gonna side with us or with Luci." Dean narrowed his eyes at the angel. "That's gonna be up to you, too."

Crowley shook his head. "Well, gentlemen - and reasonable facsimiles of the same - I think we all have our things to work on, don't you agree?"

"Yes. There is... there is much to organise." That was Gadreel, and then a blink said he was Sam. "Guess we better get working on it."

"Keep us in the loop. Much as it pains me to work with you, I think our efforts will be better spent pooled than not." Crowley held out both hands: one for Cas, and one for Cecily.

"Yeah, we'll call you," Dean agreed, even as the two demons and the ex-seraph left. "Great."

***

"What is this?" Cas asked, when they arrived.

"This? Oh. I have a few places 'squirreled' away. The joint we used when we were tracking down Purgatory is only one of many. Most of which are completely off the books, in case something like this happened."

Cecily whistled in appreciation. "Nice one, boss. I never knew about this."

"Kind of the point," the King said with a little smirk. "I know Abaddon's not a great one for books, but all it takes is for her to find someone with half your brains to rummage through the records and find out every little secret. Sometimes it's a good idea to cook the books, to keep a few things... messy. And the only real way to get to the bottom of it?" Crowley tapped his head with one finger.

"So we will be working on the First Blade," Cas surmised. "From here. Just the three of us?"

"No one else I trust, Cas. I'm not letting Moose, Squirrel, Four-Eyes, Tiger-Mommy and Lucifer-Light in here. And the only other demon with any sure-fire integrity is this little firecracker right here."

Cecily blushed. "Oh, stop."

"Don't worry, you'll earn your keep." He turned, to point out places of interest. "Study, complete with whiteboards, high-speed wifi... basically anything we need to research. War room, which has a full table ready for plotting out plans of attack. Kitchen and dining area, mostly just a luxury when I installed it, but it'll be essential, now. Bathrooms likewise, but there's five rooms en suite attached. I wanted it to be comfortable, if we ever had to use it as a bolthole. Last ditch survival type thing."

"It's wonderful," Cas said, subtly grabbing for his hand and squeezing it. 

"Very homey," Cecily agreed. "Only thing we need now is to work out where the damned knife got to."

"Cain said it was at the bottom of the deepest ocean," Cas said, musingly.

"So... the Mariana Trench? I think Google has only mapped Isla Mujeres and Cancun so far, so we're gonna have to rely on Mr. Titanic."

"The Titanic did not sink in that region," Cas pointed out. "It actually--"

"No, no, kitten. She means James Cameron, the director?"

"Oh."

"Yeppers," Cecily agreed. "He went and did a film down there. We could totes try grabbing the footage... or even the sub he used, if we have to."

"How... how would we even retrieve it?" Cas wondered. "There is a lot of salt in the oceans, would that not affect a demon?"

"A demon, yes. But not a machine, or an angel," Crowley pointed out.

"I am no longer what I was. The pressure down there would kill me instantly, I am sure."

"You, it would. But don't we know other angels? I mean, if the whole robot claw thing doesn't work."

"...Balthazar?"

"Precisely."

"I... yes. We could ask him, yes."

"Right. First things first, let's work out what we need to get this place feeling both operational and homey. If we're going to turn into..." Crowley shuddered, "...carbon copies of the Winchesters, I at least want to do it in style."

***

With Dean out on a 'supply run', which Sam thought was at least seventy-five percent him needing space, Sam was left to explain everything to Linda and Kevin. Linda had taken the whole 'Satan' thing calmer than anyone had a right to, but Kevin? Kevin had freaked out a bit.

No. A lot.

"I just don't get why you're not more... I mean, it's **Lucifer** , Sam. And you're saying you're his One True Vessel?"

Sam winced. "Yeah. I'm saying that."

"And that you actually let him in? I mean, for real?"

"It was part of a plot, but yes. I did."

"How is this in any way good?"

Sam sighed heavily. "It's not. It's not, at all. We nearly didn't make it out last time, and I sure as Hell don't know how we'll manage it this time."

"We will find a way," Linda said, her voice even and level. "If it could be done before, it could be done again. I just want to know how Abaddon released Lucifer from this... 'Cage', if it's really as secure as it is supposed to be, and if it really was so difficult to open the first time?"

"Well... I don't know for certain, but I know Cas managed to get in, and get **me** out. So... it must be... easier, now? I really don't know."

"So even if we did put him back, someone could get him out again?" Kevin looked horrified. 

"Yeah... I guess we're going to have to try and find a way to kill him, once and for all."

"Which is why... the tablets?"

Sam nodded.

"You want me to find an angel-killing spell? An **archangel** killing spell?"

"Long story short, yeah."

"I... right. Okay. No pressure. Just the end of the world as we know it. I mean, not like I don't have other things I need to worry about... okay. I'm gonna go frag some newbs for a bit. Just to calm down."

"Okay," Sam said. "You do what you gotta do."

"...give me a few hours, and I'm all yours," Kevin insisted, and he went off to the room he'd claimed.

When he'd gone, Linda nodded over to the small lounge area they used as the living room. Sam wasn't sure he wanted to be comforted, or interrogated, or whatever it was she had in mind, but he also figured he owed her, so... here went nothing. 

"How are you feeling about all of this, Sam?" Linda asked, in what was clearly her Mom-Mode.

"Really? Honestly, I'm too... shell-shocked to think anything just yet. I mean, Lucifer was a pretty big deal, and then he nearly drove me out of my mind even when I _did_ get out."

"Yes, I read the books."

"You... what?"

"I read the books. I know everything that happened."

"Oh... great."

Linda leaned over, her hand touching his knee reassuringly. "We will manage something. Didn't you say that two of the archangels were dead? Well. If you really can work out from his memories how to do it, then we'll be one step ahead of where you were last time." 

"I... I guess."

"It will be okay. It has to be."

He wished he shared her confidence.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam stared into the rear-view mirror, looking at himself. Only... not himself. It was the easiest way he and Gadreel had found to converse with one another, without Sam feeling incredibly self-conscious about what was, in effect, talking to himself.

"You sure this is a good plan?" Sam asked.

"I am not, but most of our potential plans are worse," Gadreel replied. "We must find out what Metatron wants. We need to know if he will help us, and if so, if he knows a way to end Lucifer. If anyone does, other than Michael, it is he."

"What if it turns out Metatron wants to work with Lucifer? You can't fly us to safety. We're pretty much screwed. You do know Lucifer thinks I'm his vessel, and if he finds out you're in me instead? He's not going to be happy."

"No, that is true. We have the angel blade, but that is all. I will not be able to trap Metatron in holy fire, because he will then know I do not mean to work with him, and we will lose our element of surprise. As for Lucifer, he cannot enter without your permission. You must simply never give it."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, but you got in, without me really saying yes, didn't you?"

"Only because Dean assisted."

"I guess at least Dean will never want me to say yes to Lucifer. Well, I guess you know Metatron better than I do. Alright. Let's do this."

Gadreel nodded, and took complete control. He left the car and walked to their familiar meeting spot, then closed his eyes and prayed. When he opened them, the other angel had already arrived.

"Well, well, well. I take it you called me to discuss a little rebellious angel family reunion?" Metatron asked. "All we need now is Castiel and Gabriel and we have the full set."

"Lucifer is the subject I wished to discuss, it is true," Gadreel admitted. "I wanted to know what your plan was, now."

"Isn't it obvious?"

Gadreel shook his head. No, it truly was not.

"Look. I don't know how much you remember of the good old days, but even one of God's favourites like you should remember how powerful the archangels truly are. Lucifer? Lucifer is the bee's knees."

"He is also intent on ending the world - or was, the last I had heard of his plans."

"Yes, there is that unfortunate streak to him. And then there's you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You do know you're wearing his special suit, right?"

"I was... aware that this was his intended vessel, yes."

"So you're going to let him in, aren't you?"

Gadreel couldn't work out what Metatron wanted him to say. This conversation was much more difficult than he had hoped. He had hoped there would be an easy answer, one way or another. But that was probably asking too much of the Scribe, who had never yet been straightforward. He was outclassed, here. He was so very, very outclassed.

He wanted to be smart, so he decided the best thing to do was answer a question with another. "Do you think I should?"

"I think it's possible that at some point, it's your only hope to survive. But right off? Right off you probably want to do what I'm going to do, and let the two sides duke it out. Of course, you don't want to leave it too long, before you decide. Because Lucifer won't take kindly to having to fight you for the lanky thing you're in."

"So you advise I... wait?"

"Well done, that angel. Yes, you buffoon. I'm suggesting you see which way the wind is blowing."

"Can Lucifer even be killed?"

"Oh-ho-ho! You've got a soft spot for the world after all? Or are you just trying to work out if he really is the best bet? Well. There's a way for everything to die, you know. It's important."

"Important?"

"For the story. After all, if you have an antagonist who can't be stopped... well. That's a nihilistic ending indeed. It's pretty post-modern, I suppose, but I prefer the classics."

"I do not... I do not understand?"

Metatron clapped him on the shoulder. "Of course you wouldn't, literary theory probably goes right over your head. Alright. A story needs a hero, or an anti-hero. Or... in modern terms, where ethics and morals have declined... you need protagonists and antagonists. And it depends if you want to be thematically pleasing, or true to life."

"I... see."

"No, I don't think you do. Well. I'll be up in Heaven, watching to see what happens. You should be careful, Gadreel. And if you want to pick favourites, let me know. It should be one for the history books, if nothing else."

Gadreel nodded. "I--" but Metatron had gone.

***

Dean started to shuttle his supply run out of the car. It was a long and laborious process, because it was more efficient to do a big grocery run than several little ones. And it was more convenient for a small family of Hunters to stock up on long-life items as well as the fresh crap Sam and Linda insisted he buy. At least Kevin was easily pleased. Give the kid sugar, caffeine and high-speed internet and he was happy. Kind of like a less healthy and nerdier version of Sammy, when he thought about it. 

He was in the middle of the third run when - hah - speak of the Devil, there was Kevin. 

"Hey, Dean. Is... uh. Is that... more toilet paper?"

"Uh. Yeah. Good eyes on you. No getting anything past you, is there?"

Kevin rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I mean, is it 'more' toilet paper? I know there's four of us, but... are you planning to TP Satan?"

"No. I just... we're gonna be busy, you know. Averting the Apocalypse. We don't want to get caught short in the middle of something, do we?" Dean said. It was under no circumstance a long-lost memory, an injunction by a previous Prophet of the Lord (hoard it, like it's made of gold). 

"Riiiight." Kevin did not sound convinced. "You want a hand with all this?"

"Nah, man, I'm fine. Shouldn't you be... you know. Translating?"

"Yeah. I've... I've almost done. Weird, huh? All this time, and it's nearly all done."

"Any helpful chapters like 'How To Kill The Devil For Dummies'?"

"Yep, right there after 'How To Get God To Write Your Reference When You Apply For A New Job'... no, Dean. Nothing specific. Although, you know, if he was in Hell at the time, you could always..."

"No."

"It might work."

"No way, no how. I am _not_ letting Sammy finish the trials. If nothing else, all we knows is it traps demons down there. And Lucifer? Yeah. He's a dick, but he's an angel dick, not a demon dick."

"But he can't go back to Heaven, can he? I mean, even if it wasn't closed. So won't he be trapped in Hell instead then?"

"We're not killing Sam."

"Okay, okay... it was just a thought. Wait... does he even have to die?"

"...what do you mean?"

"I mean, like, from what I know... angels can bring people back, right? So why don't we get Ez-- Gadreel to do it after?"

"Yeah, no. Naomi warned me about this. Don't you think if she could just..." he snapped his fingers, "...bring Sam back after, that she'd have been over the moon to send all the demons back to the penalty box?"

"I suppose so." Kevin sighed. "What's... what's got you so upset? I mean, I know it's Lucifer and everything, and I read the books..."

"You... you what now?"

"I read the books. You know. The Supernatural books. So I know what the official story is, but... I've never seen you this... this spooked?"

"Yeah, well, those books don't tell half the story."

"Like?"

"Like? Like how Heaven really fucked about with humans for centuries, arranging marriages, just so me and Sam were born to begin with? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I was born, but... that not freak you out, just a bit? Knowing you're practically some farm animal?"

Kevin laughed, but it was hollow. "Yeah, I suppose. About as bad as waking up one day to realise your whole purpose in life is to read some chicken scratches on some old rocks and have angels and demons and Leviathans fighting over you."

"Okay... you got a point." 

"That's not the thing that's really bugging you, is it?"

Damn the little runt, why didn't he know when to leave well enough alone? "It's nothing, Kevin, really. It's just I thought we'd done with the whole Devil thing. Twice."

"So you're wondering if you can ever really be done with it?"

"Seems so. If we don't kill him, we're just gonna be doing this over, and over, and over." Or not. Or just one last time. No. No... it was different, now. Sammy wouldn't say yes. Not twice. ~~Not three times.~~

"Maybe you could just do what they did to Cas to him. Steal the bit that makes him an angel."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, like Lucifer is gonna sit still long enough to let us. 'Hold on, Beelzebub, just stop trying to end the world while I magically cripple you and turn you into the thing you hate most in all of creation'...? Nah, I don't see it happening."

"Well, the plan would have to be more involved than _asking_ him. Although... did anyone ask him?"

"...what?"

"Did anyone ask him if he, you know, wouldn't... end the world?"

"Did you get dropped on the head as a kid?"

"No. Not that I know of."

"Kevin... he's freaking Satan. Lucifer. The Devil. Ruler of Hell. You think we could just send him a fruit basket and a note saying 'Please don't kill us all' and we can all have a fondue party?"

"...whatever, Dean. I'm just trying to think outside the box."

"Well... don't. He's Lucifer. And don't you go falling for his sob story about how Daddy never loved him, because he'll lure you in, make you like him, make you think maybe he's not such a bad guy? And then: bam. Suddenly it's the end days, and everyone's either zombified or stoned, and shooting your buddies, and wiping your ass on newspapers, and..."

"Okay, okay, I get it. I get it. Look. Why don't I leave you to your stockpiling, 'The End is Nigh' behaviour, and go back to finishing off this book of angelic crap. You decide you wanna talk through what's bothering you, you know where to find me. It's... it's no good, keeping it all bottled up, you know. One day you'll just snap. You'll think you're doing fine, think you're coping, but then someone will ask you why you're not going to a birthday party, and you'll just... you'll just _snap_. But you don't have to. You've got me, and Sam, and my Mom. So... don't, okay? Don't."

Kevin nodded, and then he walked off. Dean wasn't really sure what to say in the face of that outburst, so he was glad he wasn't left with the uncomfortable silence between them.

He had bought rather a lot of toilet paper.


	3. Chapter 3

"Why don't we ask Cain if the Blade would work on Lucifer?" Cas had been poring through the video footage they'd somehow (Cecily only knew how) acquired from the 'Titanic man', but it was so tedious, he couldn't keep his attention span focussed for longer than half an hour at a time, and then when his mind wandered he had to rewind and re-watch sections, which was beyond tedious.

"You think he'd even know, kitten?" Crowley replied, looking up from his own research.

"Well, he knows about the Blade more than anyone else does, I assume. He is the only one to ever wield it."

"Don't you think the only way he'd know if it would work or not would be to use it? And I'm assuming he never did. Reason being, I think you probably only get one chance to turn on your old boss Bad Saint Nick."

The ex-angel sighed heavily. "I suppose you are correct. I know he murdered his Knights, but this was after Lucifer was locked away in the Cage. Before then he was simply another one of Lucifer's most loyal followers."

"Precisely, my little rubber ducky. But it stands to reason if it was powerful enough to kill his Knights - when apparently _nothing_ else will... well. It could be the Colt all over again, but what other lead do we have? I don't know about you, but I left my all-powerful Devil-killing lipstick gun in my other pants."

Cas paused his footage, because it was giving him a headache. There was only so much endless dark water and strangely-shaped deep water wildlife you could look at without starting to hallucinate talking crabs and mermaids. 

"This is... pointless, Crowley. There are miles upon miles of water, and it is not as if I even know what I am looking for. How would I know I had not missed seeing it? How do we even know this film covers the area it is in, and if it does... that we can see it? There could be years of sediment covering it completely, making it invisible to the naked eye."

"Well, it's better than nothing, Cas. And unless we put you in a submarine and use you as a First Blade detector by dowsing and seeing when you start to vibrate, I'm not sure what else to suggest?"

Cas pushed to his feet, restless. He hated to be so inactive. So useless. He was a being of action, of solution... not _watching_. He needed to be face to face with his enemy. He needed to be sizing them up, looking for weaknesses. He needed to listen to the hitch in their breath, to watch for the dilation of their pupils. The way their skin flushed with blood and adrenaline, the way the hairs on the back of th--

With a jolt, Cas realised Crowley had at some point got to his feet, and grabbed hold of his arms. The hands on his biceps were constricting, frustrating, and he tried to squirm free. Crowley clearly had to fight to keep hold, and then... then he just let go and stood back. Cas did not feel any better then, either.

"Cas. What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing. Nothing, Crowley. I just... I needed to stretch my legs," Cas lied.

"It's the Mark, isn't it?"

Cas shook his head, but he knew the demon wasn't fooled.

"What does it feel like?" Crowley pushed. 

"It... it feels... it feels like... like I need to... move. All the time. Like there's this pounding, somewhere. If I sit still, then it becomes unbearable. And I'm angry. I'm angry all the time. I just want to... _hurt_ things. People. I don't know." Cas looked up, a realisation plain in his bright, blue eyes. "It's turning me into him, isn't it? Cain. It's turning me into a demon."

"No, Cas. Not a demon. Only... only years of torture in the pit, torment you don't even want to know about, followed by _you_ doing the same thing to others makes a demon. Not a little Hulk rage."

But Cas obviously did not quite get that reference.

"Then what, Crowley? If not a demon, then I am turning into _something_ unpleasant." 

The King reached out again, cupping Cas' face in his hand. Cas turned into it, closing his eyes and trying to just... focus on the feeling. The closeness. The reassurance he should feel. It wasn't working, not properly. His heart still pounded, his blood still boiled.

"It's just honing your kill instinct, darling. Which we might well need, if we're killing Lucifer as well as Abaddon. Either one on their own would be difficult, but the two together? That's a recipe for disaster. Now is normally the part where I'd be high-tailing it out of here, sharpish, and hoping the Winchesters could save the day."

"Do you really believe they can?" 

"Honestly? I don't know. They beat him once before, but you saw how hard that was, and how it nearly didn't work. They really can't pull the same stunt twice, and they didn't even _kill_ him, which is why this whole mess came about in the first place. If anyone can, they can, I suppose, but... part of me wonders if it can even be done."

Cas nodded, sadly. He closed his eyes and breathed slow and deep again, fighting the rising panic coming from somewhere deep inside. "Yes. I understand. Lucifer is... Lucifer is not like Raphael. Lucifer destroyed me with nothing more than a snap of his fingers. We had the element of surprise on our side last time, but this time... this time..."

"We can't just rely on Sam and Dean to save the day. You've seen what happens when we do: we get the Raphaels, the Dicks, the Megs, the Abaddons. They must screw things up just as much as they save the day, and their ethical compass? Well. It's about as reliable as a regular compass at the North Pole: anything they decide they want to do must therefore be right."

"They are... only human, Crowley."

"I know, which means in a few decades at most we'll be rid of them, and the world will be a calmer place. But for the time being, barring fire, flood or other Act of God, we're stuck with the annoying little shits."

"I still want to punch Dean," Cas said, almost apropos of nothing.

"Because of what he did to me?"

Cas nodded. His heart... his heart was racing again. It was getting harder and harder to control these urges. They kept surging up, and filling his mind with _images_. He'd be holding a normal conversation, and seemingly from nowhere he'd imagine himself using whatever was in the room to cave someone's skull in, lifting it from the bloodied mess covered in skin, hair, and brain matter. He'd say good morning to Cecily and imagine pushing the heel of her shoe into her thorax, forcing the stiletto between her ribs and puncturing her heart, along with the eminently satisfying squelching sound that would accompany the act. He'd speak to Sam on the phone and imagine pulling his hair and bending him over backwards until his spine popped apart, and severed the column of nerves, and...

"Cas. Cas! Stay with me."

"Sorry."

"It's getting worse, isn't it?" Crowley asked, moving his hand around to the back of his neck. He kneaded at the muscles there, pulling at the knots of tension that seemed to make everything hurt. 

Cas forced his eyes open and onto Crowley's. "Yes. Yes. I do not know how to control it, Crowley. I keep thinking of ways to hurt people, to kill them. Even people I do not wish to hurt."

"...even me?" the King asked, with a smile that looked disingenuous.

"...mostly not you," Cas replied, which was to say: sometimes. 

"Well." A swallow. "Although he had rather a longer run at it than you, didn't you say Cain had given up the murdering lifestyle? What was it you said he was doing: keeping bees?"

Cas nodded. "I do not see how--"

"Simple," Crowley said, and guided Cas back over to the plush leather couch. "Cain stopped killing, he was leading a calm, non-psychopathic murdering life. That means that you can, too."

"But he... he had thousands of years to practice."

"That's very true, I'll agree. But what was it that got him over it, in the end?"

It was like a light went on in his eyes. "You mean Colette."

"Indeed I do." Crowley's clever fingers worked up from his neck, to stroke through his hair and rub at his scalp. "He had true love, and that was enough to overcome even Lucifer's worst. And he was a demon, and you are an angel. Albeit a little battered around the edges, at the moment."

Cas dropped his head onto Crowley's shoulder, pulling his feet up onto the couch, curling up into a protective ball. "It is true, I do have you." 

"And if _you_ can get _me_ off the blood, then no little magical scratch is going to get the better of you." 

"I am... I am sorry."

"What for?"

"For... everything. For all the things I've done I shouldn't. For... for--"

A finger on his lips, and Cas peered balefully up at his demon.

"Hush, now," Crowley said, with no heat behind his words. He lifted his finger from his angel's lips, and then leaned in, brushing his own lips against Cas', stopping any further words. It was a slow kiss, not like the frantic, blood-fever kisses from the hotel room. It was sure, and it was paced, and it was loving. Cas let his eyes close as he felt Crowley tease him maddeningly slowly, those warm, rough fingerpads roving gently over his scalp. He let Crowley do it, let him set the pace... and when he pulled back to look at him, there was a question on the demon's face.

"I-- I need... I need... something," Cas said, realising it even as he spoke.

"Anything, my angel. You know that."

"I need... to know that I can... that I can control myself. That this has not... that the Mark is not in control, that _I_ am."

"And how can we convince you of that?" Crowley asked. "Say the word, and whatever it is..."

"I..." Cas swallowed. "Will you let me... lead?" His mouth was dry, suddenly. Now that he thought about it, he realised he'd been hiding under Crowley's aegis since his unfortunate fall. It hadn't been conscious, but it had been deliberate. 

The demon cocked his head to one side, curious but consenting. "Anything," he repeated.

Crowley had done this, once. He still remembered that time, the first time he had realised that their lovemaking could be a source of comfort, as much as sheer pleasure. A method of connecting, of deepening their bond. Cas reached to the hand that was in his hair, and he pulled it carefully down. Crowley did not resist, and Cas tugged his palm around. He still could feel the thundering, could tell just how fragile the bones were in Crowley's wrist (and he could feel them, every one of them, as they twisted together. Close to the surface, and he knew how much of a shear they could take before they snapped, before they pushed through the skin like jagged, white teeth) as he raised his hand and kissed over the pulse-point. Crowley's breath hitched, and he was gratified to hear it. He pulled his hand closer, and he nipped gently at the fleshy base of his thumb, worrying over the skin and muscle, but never biting down hard enough to hurt. His tongue licked over the slight indentations from his teeth, and then he flickered the very tip of his tongue at the webbing between thumb and forefinger, before he licked up to the tip and wrapped his lips around his lover's finger.

Crowley used his free hand to curl around Cas' jaw, and Cas could feel fingers stroking under his chin into the soft space below, so he swallowed exaggeratedly with a little gulping noise, and he was pleased to hear another hiss. He reached up for Crowley's tie, his fingers first tugging it a little, threatening to choke him, before he started to unknot the fine, silken paisley. He gazed up at Crowley, their eyes meeting, and he made sure his focus never once wavered as he yanked the tie until it crumpled beside them on the couch. The hand on his face moved down to his shoulder, but Crowley knew better than to do any more. Cas let Crowley's finger fall from his lips with a little soft 'pop', and then he moved all at once, surging up and straddling him, sitting low on his lap. He ran hands up over his neck, thumbs teasing at his earlobes as he guided Crowley's head back.

"Cas, I--"

"Shh," Cas insisted, kissing to the side of his mouth. "I need to know... I need to know I'm more than just violence and death, Crowley. More than screaming and blood."

Fingers clutched at his shoulders, and the demon nodded in agreement. "I can't say I won't scream myself, though, if you keep this up."

Cas snorted. "Try not to. For as long as you can. Try not to. I want... I want the quiet."

"My lips are sealed."

Cas couldn't resist that, and he leaned in to kiss said closed lips, smiling as they curled beneath his own. He trailed his kisses lower, finding Crowley's throat bared in offering. Not so long ago, they had bitten and savaged one another: Cas demanding punishment and absolution for his sins, and Crowley seeking the high that only stolen blood could give. This was not about that. This was about _them_ , and knowing they could be more. He licked the low rumbles from Crowley's stubble-scratchy skin, and wrapped his mouth around the rise of his adam's apple. He suckled gently, grinding down hard into his lap. Crowley was already hard, he could tell. He could feel the answering heat there in his lap, and he knew it mirrored his own: the erection that was trapped between them, pressed into Crowley's stomach through his pants. But that could wait. That could wait til later.

Enjoying the momentary - enforced - quiet, he started to unbutton Crowley's shirt. Why did his demon have to wear so damnably many clothes? Admittedly, they looked good on him, and other than the occasional bathrobe or pair of silk pyjamas, he could not imagine him dressed any other way, but when you had nothing but your own two hands and thirty-two teeth to use... well, then it became troubling. He pushed back the shirt, his fingers burrowing beneath to stroke over warm skin. It was helping. It was helping him think of things other than blood, other than death as he instead focussed his attention on coaxing the quiet noises of pleasure instead. Cas kissed down, shimmying his weight backwards and closer to Crowley's knees as he rained down his lips towards his chest. Crowley tasted of sweat, and of the faintest traces of fabric. His hands were stroking encouragingly through Cas' hair as the ex-angel flickered his tongue over one sharp, swollen little nipple. 

"Cas," Crowley moaned, forgetting to be quiet, though his voice was a rough whisper. "Oh... oh yes. Please don't stop that."

Instead, Cas snorted in amusement and laved his tongue harder and harder, loving the way Crowley started to squirm underneath him, how his hands tightened over his head, how he tugged at Cas' hair, trying to beg with his fingers for more. He pressed his teeth above for purchase, and worried the nipple as roughly as he could without it hurting, and Crowley was a whimpering, squirming wreck. A sharp but brief press of teeth, and Cas pulled his head free... but only long enough to kiss right over to the other side, to repeat the process there. 

"Ohgodyesyes, Cas, yes..."

When Cas let his weight fall back down, he was sure he could feel Crowley's dick there, between his thighs. He kissed his way noisily back up, a hand on either side of his head, holding onto the couch for purchase. "You said you'd help save me," he purred, rubbing his cheek over Crowley's, breathing in the smell of soap and the subtle hint of sulphur which always seemed to cling, but which never seemed to make him recoil. 

"Of course I will, Cas," the King agreed, his hands sliding down to grab hold of his ass. Cas pressed against them, and then found himself pushed forward, pushed back into his lap. He used his weight to grind down, hissing at how good it felt. "I'll follow you to Purgatory and beyond, if I have to. I'll walk across every square inch of the ocean floor, swim through every last drop of the seas if I get to keep you, if I get to make you smile."

"We are wearing too much," Cas insisted. He pushed the shirt all the way open, and reached between them for Crowley's belt, unbuckling it as fast as he could. He was pleased to see Crowley shrug out of the shirt, and it crumpled up somewhere behind him.

"I could help with that, if you want?" Crowley blinked owlishly up at him, his eyes shot black, but not with that manic, drug-hungry way he'd seen all too often.

Cas shook his head. "No. If I never... if I'm stuck like this, I need... I need to get used to doing things the hard way," he insisted. He moved to brace himself on his knees, lifting himself up just enough so that he could start tugging Crowley's pants free. Thankfully, Crowley worked out what he wanted pretty quickly, and he worked with him, shimmying off the pants and boxers, kicking them down to his feet. Cas grinned a thank you.

"May I at least help to undress you?" Crowley asked.

"But no magic," Cas insisted.

Crowley nodded, and he started to work Cas' shirt open. Here, in their little bunker, Cas opted to leave the coat and tie hung up unless they were going out, but he rarely did, now. It wasn't as safe for him to do supply runs, so he'd been more or less quarantined. Crowley teased open the buttons, and he wriggled first one arm, then the other out of his shirt. Arms free, he draped them around Crowley's neck and let his demon unfasten his own pants. He leaned to one side, then the other, and kicked his legs at the appropriate time to assist. He nearly toppled once, but Crowley held him up and Cas muffled a little snicker into his neck. It was... it was safer. Saner. More like they had always been, not the manic, furious, terrified fucking of the last few times. He felt... he felt grounded and normal, and when their shoes hit the ground in quick succession, he knew there was some chance that everything could be alright.

Cas put both his feet on the ground, using them for purchase. He pushed Crowley backwards and sideways, letting him fall onto the couch. 

"We should probably put a sock on the door, Cas," Crowley said, with a little smirk. "I take it the injunction against magic doesn't extend that far?"

"...sock?"

"Cecily," Crowley explained. "I can lock the doors. Make sure we're not interrupted by the kids."

"Oh." Cas felt his skin flushing with embarrassment at the thought of... "Yes. Please. I do not wish to be - ah - interrupted. It would be... unfortunate."

Cas wasn't sure what Crowley did, but he suspected it would be at least tasteful, if Cecily did attempt to enter the room they were now misusing, but he tried his best not to think of her at all. Not when... not when Crowley was lying back on the couch, grinning slightly goofily up at him. They were both completely naked, and Cas was at a momentary loss. He wanted... he wanted so many things, but he almost didn't even know where to start. His fingers trailed little bee-lines over Crowley's warm, alternately smooth and hairy skin. 

"Well," the demon quipped, "...you have me completely at your mercy, you devil, you. Whatever are you going to do with me?"

That helped. The gentle teasing was reminder enough, and Cas bent down to nip at his lip. "I was thinking something along the lines of seeing if a human can still fuck you enough to satisfy you, but if you had something else in mind, you could always beg me nicely."

He could still surprise his demon, it seemed, because Crowley's jaw snapped shut. "I'm... amenable to a little scientific experiment. Rigorously conducted. Have to do it three times for the data to be valid, but you should probably aim for three different days to be adequately diverse."

Cas ran a hand down Crowley's side, over his hip, and down along the outside of his thigh. When his fingers hooked behind Crowley's knee, the demon lifted his leg obligingly, curling it around Cas' waist to give him the access he needed. His weight rolled slightly, and he propped his head up on one hand. 

"Let's take this one step at a time, demon. If this is a resounding failure, I may need remedial classes."

"Am I to assume, then, that you want me to let you walk into the bedroom to fetch the strawberry lube, or would you like me to assist in that, too?"

Damnable beast. Crowley was having much too much fun in poking at his limited abilities. If it wasn't for the little grin on his face, Cas might start to think it was malicious. "If strawberry lube will make you feel better, then by all means..." he held out his hand, expectantly. He was not about to be out-sassed, and when the little squeezy bottle appeared, he made a point of looking at it appraisingly. (Damnable Crowley.)

"Lube is your friend, angel," the demon sing-songed, grinning even wider. "And if you're going to pummel me even half as hard as I think, then yes... it will make me feel better."

Cas squirted out a sizeable, clear, fragrant blob onto his fingers, and ran the viscous liquid back and forth. It felt a little less slick than perhaps they were accustomed to, when they didn't need anything other than their own divine or infernal juices, but it would do. He ran one finger slowly behind Crowley's balls, squinting as he tried to focus on how to do this. For a moment he forgot who they were. No - that wasn't quite right - he knew _who_ they were, they were Castiel and Crowley. But he forgot the other things, the things that mattered less: angel, ex-angel, no Mark, Mark, demon, King of Hell... they were just Cas and Crowley, and all that mattered was the low moan as Crowley pushed back against his hand, and the way his eyes shuttered closed when he pushed one finger into him. It didn't matter the days they'd been apart, or the times they'd thought themselves alone, because he was easing two digits inside, he was spreading the slowly, and he was pumping the in and out, in and out. Crowley's hands both flew up to grab the arm of the couch behind him, and Cas worked harder in response. 

"Do you like that?" he asked.

"Do I-- Cas!" Crowley sounded exasperated, but his expression was loving when he levelled his head to stare eye-to-eye. "Yes. Bloody Hell, yes. Don't stop doing that."

One foot on the floor, Cas surged forwards to kiss him. It was a hungry, messy kiss where teeth collided and then tongues were never quite sure where to go, so they slipped back and forth, the kiss equal parts give and take. It was messy, and it was noisy, and it helped smooth over the worry as he scissored his fingers wide open on each push in, making Crowley grunt and shudder under the rough finger-fucking. Cas bit at his lip, then scraped teeth over his throat so he could better focus on his hand... until Crowley was choking back almost... wailing sounds of need. His hands were clawing at the couch, and he bucked and writhed under him until Cas knew he had to show mercy.

"Now?" he asked.

"Fuck, yes, now," the demon agreed, gruffly. 

At his urging, Crowley rolled over onto his front, and when Cas pulled his hips sideways so he was bent over the edge of the couch, on all fours with his ass in the air waiting, he didn't protest. Cas settled between his knees, then held his own dick in his hand. The poor thing had been ignored all along, and he worried he wasn't going to last long enough, but he wanted to try. He pushed in carefully, and put a hand on the curve of Crowley's back so he could better feel him tighten around him as he entered. It was good. It was good, and tight, and warm. Cas hadn't done this, not as a human, and the sudden slick slide around his dick was almost too much to bear. It's why he'd avoided this, terrified it would be over too soon. Terrified he'd no longer be... adequate... but Crowley was panting and shivering under him, he was rocking back and forth as much as he could, trying to get Cas to go deeper.

"I love you," Cas said, even though he'd said it a hundred times, a thousand, a hundred thousand. "I love you so much."

"Yes," Crowley agreed, head turned to grin back at him. "I love you too. But please, Cas, for the love of all that's holy and not..."

Well, yes. Cas Grabbed hold of Crowley's hips, and started to move in earnest. Underneath him, Crowley grunted in what sounded like genuine pleasure, so he couldn't have been too bad at it. He went as hard and fast as he dared, slamming into him over and over. It was good. Oh, it was good. But more gratifying were the little, atavistic grunts and the way Crowley was pushing his head into the couch, as if it would help. He didn't think it was a lie, he didn't think it was anything other than the demon enjoying himself thoroughly. It had been a long time since he'd been taken, Cas realised, and that made a possessive, fierce, loving wave rise up in his chest. He reached below him to wrap a hand around Crowley's cock, jerking him hard and fast in sync with his thrusts, and he was surprised by how that made Crowley _howl_.

"Mine," the once-angel growled, his slightly-lubed hand slamming into his balls with every dry tug. "You're all mine, like I am yours. Always, Crowley. Always."

"Yes, yes, Cas, ohh yes... harder, angel, please... I've missed you so much, I've missed this..."

Fighting the bitter little taste of his own failure in that, Cas decided it just meant he had to make up for lost time. A lot of lost time. He went faster, as fast as he could, struggling not to lose his grip with his hand, or his feet to go sliding off on the hardwood floor. "Yes, Crowley, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I--" Damnit. Why did he always have to apologise? "Goddon'tletmehidefromthisagaindon'tletmedon't--"

Underneath, Cas could feel Crowley's climax a moment before it hit, and it took him by surprise. One moment he was pounding him, hard, and the next he was struggling to keep hold of his cock because he was coming messily, sloppily, spurting all over Cas' hand and the couch. Crowley wailed loudly, humping his hand a few fierce, rabid times before he collapsed against the couch, panting. 

Pleased, Cas let go of his cock and grabbed back hold of his hips, using his grip for purchase as he slammed the few times more he needed. He came with a victory cry, his demon's name loud on his lips, before he fell forwards in a boneless, suddenly snuggly heap against the demon's heaving back.

"That... that was..."

"Wonderful," Crowley agreed, his voice almost a purr. "Damn, Cas, but you're good at that. Human or not, you sure know how to stick it to the man."

Cas laughed at the strange choice of phrase. "No, only to you."

"Good. Because I'd be ever so put out if I found out you were fucking any _other_ demons so hard they forget they're damned."

"You charm will be the death of you, one day," Cas snorted, pulling out with a reluctant little grunt. 

Crowley shook first one leg, then the other, before he grunted back to his feet long enough to collapse back down on the couch. With a wince. When he landed. On his ass. Cas could not help but feel a little smug. 

"I can think of worse ways to die than by charm," Crowley insisted, holding his hands out. Cas let his hands be held, and laughed as he was pulled unceremoniously down to sit half on Crowley, half on the couch. "The question remains why you could ever doubt you would ever be anything less than a tiger in the sack, Cas. Angel or no... when I told you that you had 'sex appeal', I wasn't just referring to your vessel, you know."

"It... I know... but it was... it felt... different." His eyes couldn't help but drift down to the Mark, which had faded in his mind to a dull throb for the moment. "I know you said you would still love me, but it... it is difficult to feel as though this is 'me'. Difficult not to feel somehow... lesser."

Caring fingers stroked everywhere the demon could touch, and Cas purred under them, feeling the sweat stroked into his skin. 

"I know. I know you don't feel like 'you', but it's only temporary. It's only a short term thing, until we fix you. And we will fix you. I'll bend Heaven, Hell, Earth, Purgatory and any realm in between to make you feel yourself again."

Arms around his demon's neck, Cas clutched him tighter. "I know you will. But... for now? Feeling like this... doesn't feel as bad as I thought."

Crowley nodded, kissing at his throat. "My angel," he said, voice soft. "Wings or not, it's always what you'll be."


	4. Chapter 4

"I just got off the phone with Garth," Sam said, as soon as Dean came in the room.

"Oh? What's rattled his tree?"

"Killings. Specifically, a rash of them, all connected to hospitals, health care professionals and morticians."

Dean narrowed his eyes, not sure he wanted the rest, but he had to ask anyway. "Where?"

"That's the thing: all over. He said he'd had calls from Hunters all around, all saying the same thing. So far it's too widespread and indistinct for the national media to pick up on it, but the trend is spreading fast, and it won't be long before it's news."

"He say what the circumstances are?"

"Said as far as he can tell it's like someone thought a re-enactment of the Walking Dead would be a good idea, and people are just turning into brutal killing machines for no real reason."

"Great."

Sam's head tilted to one side. "You aren't surprised by the news." 

"Nope, can't say I am. It's the Croats, isn't it?"

"The Croatoan virus?"

Dean nodded. "You remember, the sulphur crap, the blood lust, all that shit?"

"I thought we got rid of all of that?"

A snort from the older brother. "Yeah, well, my guess is they either stockpiled it, or they made some more. Now Lucifer's sprung, if there's no Michael to bring about the real end times, he's got free run of the joint."

"So you think Lucifer's just gonna... what?"

"You... you remember I told you Zach showed me a vision? A vision of the world I didn't say yes in, with some shitty, Stepford Apocalypse Now version of me begging me to wing up?"

Sam did, but it was only a vague memory. It was five years ago, after all, and Dean hadn't been too generous with the details. 

"Well... Croats is one of the things. I'll be honest, the world kind of went to shit from then on in. Looked like it was martial law, with vigilante Hunters running raids into hot zones. Cas was human--" and Dean snorted, oh, full circle indeed. "Said all the other angels high-tailed it out of there when the big boys started swinging baseball bats, and Satan was wearing you in a white tux. To the prom."

"That's why you called me," Sam guessed. "You thought if we weren't together, that I'd say yes to Lucifer? And mean it?"

Dean winced. He hated all this Jerry Springer, touchy feely, meaningful crap. Okay, it was Sam, but it was still a farce. "Look, I don't know if it was some cooky made up hallucination designed to get me to say yes, or if it really was what was gonna happen... but that version of me said he hadn't spoken to you in years."

"Right." Sam did not sound convinced.

"Look, what do you want me to say? I told you back then. I was wrong, okay? We _are_ stronger together. Whenever we get through shit it's because we worked together at it. Their whole 'Wonderful Life' thing backfired. And we stopped armageddon. So we can do it again."

"How?"

"Yeah, well." Dean shrugged. "I haven't gotten that far in the plan, yet."

"I mean, if the virus caused all the things you said, if it's a widespread pandemic, how do we stop it?"

"I'm guessing it's started off in the blood banks, if the outbreaks are in hospitals? Think about it: it's a blood-borne virus. That's gotta be the most effective way to spread it."

"So we... what? Call the CDC and tell them to stop all transfusions, and quarantine anyone who has been given blood, or has come into contact with anyone who has been given blood?"

"Uh, I guess the CDC has protocols in place for this."

"No, Dean. They don't. They don't have protocols in place for a virus of demonic origin, which has no known cure or antidote, which has hit without any kind of warning, and which they aren't equipped to screen for, or treat. Just think about how many people are infected. What would the government do with them? They can't cure them, do they lock them all up? Not to mention even getting them to recognise the illness in the first place..."

"Damnit, Sammy, I'm not a freaking doctor! I'm a Hunter, not some politician! Gimme a gun, gimme a knife, and I'll kill whatever's causing trouble... but I ain't got the know how to fix everything. I mean - what can we do? Other than call it through to the officials, or organise some kind of mass run on all the blood banks, just in case? You really wanna make that call? Kill all those people who are going through surgery?"

"You mean, instead of let them live long enough to infect others, and turn into what's practically a zombie?"

"Look... I got nothing, okay? I don't know the answer, Sam."

"I know. I know you don't, but I don't either, Dean."

"So we just... what? Give up? Is that what you're saying?"

"I don't know what I'm saying, Dean. I guess... I guess we try calling the CDC, then. And if that doesn't work... I guess we call Fox News."

"Right. You... you do that. You're a better fake doctor than me."

"So what are you gonna do?" Sam asked.

"I'm gonna call Garth, and tell him to expect the end of the world."

***

Dean clicked through the links Garth had sent him. The kid might not be great in the field, but his organisational skills would have shown Bobby a run for his money. Times like this, Dean really missed the old dick. Bobby would have known what to do with this map that was flaring up like the Fourth of July. Everywhere. Sam hadn't exaggerated. Every single state had at least one or more report of Croatoan outbreaks, even Hawaii and Alaska. There were even blips in South America and Canada... Garth must have spread his net wide.

There were videos on the news sites, snatches of CCTV that cut out before the end. Interviews and eyewitness reports that all said the same thing: people were just going crazy. It was like a blood fever, like a berserker rage. Dean found himself watching, without even knowing why. It was like some sort of morbid train-wreck effect, but once he started, he just couldn't stop.

First there was the story about the poor kid who had been on the waiting list for a kidney transplant, who had got home and attacked the whole family who had visited to celebrate her miracle cure. Then there was the mother who had ripped her newborn baby to shreds. On and on he went, reading the testimonials as if it would somehow give him an idea on how to stop it.

The other Dean Winchester hadn't. The one who'd lost his Sam to the Devil. He'd been helpless in the face of this hellish disease, and the world had gone to shit in two short years. Two years. Was that what they had to look forward to? Refugee camps? No real supplies? Living in a permanent war zone? 

There wasn't even a Michael to say 'yes' to, now. Abaddon - according to Crowley's secretary - had only retrieved Lucifer, not his older brother. And no one knew how she'd done it, and without his wings, Dean wasn't too sure Cas would be able to get Michael out. If they wanted him out. If they even wanted to try... 

Dean jumped as the computer voice talky thing Sam had installed started ringing, and he clicked on the green phone thingy.

"Sup," came the cheery voice, the screen suddenly half-full of--

"Charlie?" Dean leaned in, frowning.

"Hey, hey, back it up, bro. I don't need to see down your nose. Yep... that little blinking light on the top is the camera. I can see everything you're up to."

"How the Hell did you... I don't wanna know, do I?"

"You know it's perfectly normal these days for two friends to talk to one another using the miracles of the information superhighway? It's just a series of tubes, Dean."

"Sure. Whatever. What are you calling for?"

"Uhm... the sudden Shaun of the Dead? The zombified axe-murderers? I'm guessing you and Sam have been--"

"Yeah. About that. It's... it's complicated."

"More complicated than the whole black goo-monsters?"

"Would you believe me if I said 'Satan'?"

That made Charlie sit back - almost out of frame - and whistle low through her teeth. Over the computer, the sound was reedy and painful. "Really? Him again?"

"Yes, really. This is his doing. It's a virus, and not the ones and zeroes kind. Hey... you know how you are this computer guru?"

"Oh... oh no..."

"C'mon, Charlie. I know you wanna do good."

"Why does your version of 'good' normally involve mortal peril?"

"How is hacking a few computers 'mortal peril'?"

"Maybe I should let you risk a life sentence, then," she said, leaning close to the camera. 

"You know you want to do it."

"What is it I want to do?"

"You want to hack the CDC--" he wasn't deterred by her choking noise, "--and make sure they, uh, treat this as the national emergency it really is."

"You know there's not like some health Def Con button I can just flip, right?"

Dean shrugged. Honestly, he wasn't really sure, because he'd never thought about it before today. "So you press more than one button. There must be something you can set off, right? Some... database you can... overload, or..."

"Man, you really don't know how big government works, do you?" She clucked at him, disapprovingly. "Fine. Leave it with me. I'll do what I can."

"Good man. Woman. I mean--"

"It's okay, Dean, I'm a modern woman. You can call me a dude, I won't be offended. And then we can both dig Selina Kyle's figure-hugging catsuit together... mrow."

Dean made a little face, because... okay. So it was kinda hot, but it still felt a bit weird admitting it to her. He wasn't sure why. Maybe because she might one day wear one too? "Okay. I promise I'll call you dude, but I'd prefer you don't call me a chick or whatever."

"Oh, Dean, if anything I'll be calling you and Sam my bitches. Alright. You've given me plenty to work on... I'll be in touch. Don't go... you know. Zombing out on me. Kay?"

"I promise I'll do my best."

"Peace out."


	5. Chapter 5

When Cas was finally asleep in their bed, Crowley made his way out to find Cecily still hard at work. AJ was purring in his sleep on her lap, and she was bent over her tablet, scribbling things on a legal blotter next to her on the couch without even looking up. She had to have been working for hours on end: demons didn't sleep, and without an angel of her own to keep her occupied...

"Don't you think you deserve a break?" he called out, softly. He didn't want to startle her, or wake Cas. Even so, the other demon jumped and set her cat mewling in protest.

"Geez, you always sneak up on people like that?" she asked.

"Only workaholics who should know better. Come on: put the computer down. We're going to have a drink... what's your poison?"

"Gin and tonic. Lime around the rim, and then in the glass."

"Should have known you'd be the classy type... alright. Put those notes away, and we're going to have a long talk."

Crowley walked over to the small kitchen area he'd installed, and was glad that his love of the finer things in life had made him properly furnish this little home away from home. He decided he might as well have a change, too, and he made two G&Ts and brought them back over. AJ was, by now, kneading at Cecily's lap, his enthusiastic black tail wagging in and out of the way, and tickling her nose. 

"Thanks," she said, pushing her hair back obsessively.

He had noticed she touched her hair much more when she was feeling uncomfortable, and she'd been doing that a Hell of a lot more recently. She had one leg tucked under her, and she nursed the glass for a moment before she seemed to remember she should be drinking it.

"It will be okay," he said. "I know you don't feel like it, right now, but it will."

She nodded, but it was an automatic reaction. The smiles on her face - any expression - seemed like it was plastered on, a death mask over her true face. "Yep. I know. It'll get better with time. Time heals all wounds. You never forget, but remembering stops hurting. He'll always be with me... I know all the things, boss. I know the stages of grief. Could probably produce charts on how long it takes to--"

"Stop, sweetheart, stop." He put a hand on hers, begging her to not go on. "This isn't something you magic away with a properly researched dossier. You can't google up ways to feel better. And no matter what I say to you, it sucks. I'm not going to be able to bring him back. I can't even take away your pain. But what I can offer you is the chance for revenge, and the position of my second in command when we take Hell back. Whatever you want, you'll get."

"It was never about... that."

"I know. I know that."

"How would being your second... how... would it--?"

"It wouldn't take away the pain, no. But it would be an outward recognition of your intelligence, your hard work. You could have the whole world if you wanted it, Cecily. You're smart. You're driven. You're dedicated. I don't know what else to offer someone like you, other than my support in anything you choose to do."

"I don't... I don't even know what I want, now." She looked up, and her eyes were blurry. "I don't... it was just fun, ya know? I mean. He was pretty nice to me. Maybe not the smartest crayon in the box... hey, no laughing. You know. You know I was... you know I was just with him because it was better than nothing, and that's the worst thing. If he hadn't... if we'd not been together, then maybe he'd still be alive? And I didn't even... I didn't even love him, boss." Cecily was fighting not to choke on a sob.

"It's alright. You maybe weren't in love with him, but you cared for him. You cared for him, and about him, and that was enough for him. You have to remember you are - were - both demons. It's not often our kind fall truly in love, but that's not to say it doesn't happen. And you mustn't feel like you're letting his memory down because you didn't feel a certain way about him."

"But it's awful! He's dead and I didn't even love him! What kind of a bitch does that make me?!"

"Did you kill Scotty?" Crowley asked.

Cecily shook her head violently no, and AJ made a disgruntled noise at the vibrations.

"Well, then. Abaddon did, not you. But just because he's dead, it doesn't mean you owe him some other kind of feelings than what you really had. Do you think he thought you loved him?"

"I... we never really talked about it. It was... it was just fun, ya know?"

"Do you think he was happy?"

Cecily dropped her head again, and buried her face in AJ's fur. "I don't know," she whispered.

"Well, I'll tell you now: he was. He was never happier than when he was with you. I knew him pretty well, it's why I gave him that job. And he loved spending time with you, and so you should hold onto that. Hold onto the good things, not think about the bad."

Anger briefly flashed in her eyes, and Crowley was surprised. He'd never seen her angry before.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I'm... no."

"You can tell me, you know."

From the way her eyes suddenly flickered to the door leading to the room he shared with Cas... ah. Jealousy. Such a typical response, and not even a demonic one.

"I see," he said, understandingly. "I know it must be hard to be around him, and I'm sorry. But this is the safest place other than the Hunters' home, and I really don't think you'd like to live with three confirmed bachelors and one live-in-mommy. If you think we're bad, you've never had the pleasure of being a demon under their roof."

"No! No, I wasn't... I'm happy for you, I so am. It's just... hard. You have him, and I--" The female demon nearly sobbed again.

"Oh, darling, come here. Come here," he said, holding his arm out. 

After the briefest of pauses, she was pressed up against his side, and AJ was moving to sprawl across both of their laps together. Trust a cat to expand to fit. 

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be," he told her, kissing her hair. "You were there for me, now it's my turn to be there for you. That's what friends do."

Cecily nodded, letting her eyes close. When Crowley flickered on some low music, she was glad. It cut through the silence, and it made her feel a little less alone.

***

"Listen," Dean said, glaring at the matron, "...this is a real, genuine, bona fide emergency."

"I understand you think so," she snapped back, "...but I'm telling you, if you want to shut down this ER ward, you're going to need more than a phone call and a fax from someone we've never heard of. People are _dying_."

"And more people will die if you don't examine your blood samples for sulphur!"

"There's no sulphur! You're talking nonsense! Sulphur does not cause uncontrollable homicidal urges, but talking to you does!"

"I'll shut down the whole hospital if you won't quality check your--"

" _Security_!" she yelled. "Security!"

"You are making a **mistake** ," he said, as two heavy orderlies came closer. Dean knew it was only a matter of time before the real security staff arrived. "This is going to--"

But he didn't finish, because there was the sound of breaking glass and screaming from down the corridor. Everything turned into a blur, with the orderlies, the matron and Dean all running in the direction of the screaming, whilst the walking wounded in the ER ran in the opposite direction.

Dean couldn't blame them, because when he got to the scene of the crime, it was pandemonium. Someone had put a medical gurney through the safety glass with enough force to shatter it, but the reinforced material hadn't properly splintered. That hadn't stopped three people grabbing shards, or a fourth from grabbing some of the surgical instruments and launching at the screaming patients and nurses.

"Don't let them cut you!" Dean yelled. "It's in the blood. Don't let them infect you!" 

One of the Croats charged at him, obviously seeing him as the biggest threat. Dean ducked a flying set of scalpels, narrowly avoiding being blinded in the process. He grabbed another gurney and shoved it at the woman, sending her barrelling into the wall. A high pitched scream of terror, and he turned just in time to see one of the fuckers slice at a young girl, who was cowering behind her stuffed teddy. Damnit! He could still see the dead eyes of the kid from all those years ago... although he supposed in a sense, from right now. Fucking time travel. He could still remember the rage he'd seen on the kid's face, instead of innocence, and he took a half step back in horror. 

What was he supposed to do? She - like all the people these Croats had attacked and infected - would turn sour. She'd look all cute an innocent, but she'd take down how many people? So?

Did he kill her? She wasn't a monster yet, but she was going to be. Same as all these other folks. Just the same as a Werewolf or a Vampire. but worse, somehow. No reasoning with them, they were just... animals. And if he slaughtered everyone here that might possibly have been infected... how many innocents would he kill? Could they really hope to contain this, now? Doctors and nurses who were doing all they could to help the sick people, and they were all on his hit list. Not to mention, how long would society last if Hunters went around and killed every medical professional? Not to mention how the Hunters would be branded cold-hearted psychopathic mass-murderers.

The security guards were here, now. They pounced on top of the Croats, and with cuffs and elbows and knees they managed to restrain them. For once, Dean couldn't do anything but stare on in horror. 

Anyone in this hospital. Anyone. Any of the visitors, the staff. Their neighbours. The ambulance drivers. The volunteers. It took days for symptoms to even show, so tracking them down... it was impossible. It was beyond impossible. It truly was the perfect, utter Hell on Earth.

Dean left. He didn't know what else to do, so he ran.


	6. Chapter 6

Cas jumped when he heard a squeak of distress, and his eyes were immediately on Cecily. The demon was staring at her phone like it could somehow answer her questions if she only thought at it hard enough. Actually, Cas wondered if maybe she'd found some way to communicate silently with it, because he was sure there were features on the small devices that bordered on magical.

Eventually, it became clear to the ex-seraph that she wasn't going to suddenly blink and everything be right. "Cecily?"

For a moment, she didn't react. Then she blinked up at him, as though she'd forgotten he was even there. 

"Have you found the Blade?"

"Actually... it might be harder than we first thought."

Harder? How could it be harder than 'next to impossible', Cas thought? "How? Why?"

"Uhm... the government's declared a state of national emergency. So. Yep. Screwed."

"What does that mean?" Cas pushed, because this felt like one of those situations where only recently being a human meant there was a gap in his understanding.

"In this sitch? It means... it means they've told everyone to go to their homes and stay there, until they can get to the bottom of this sudden... well. Pandemic. I mean... I'd seen there was a sudden increase in violent attacks, but I never..."

Cas pulled his phone out and rang Dean. No answer. Sam. It rang, and rang, and rang, and then...

" _Hey, Cas_."

"Sam. Cecily has told me there is an emergency."

" _You only just find out? Yeah. There's an emergency, all right. It's the Croatoan virus, Cas. Lucifer's put out a demonic plague. It's nothing the world has ever really coped with before._ "

"Why didn't you tell me this was happening?"

" _Sorry... I guess we thought you already knew. So. Uh. Try to avoid getting any contaminated blood on you, Cas. In fact, it's probably best you stay indoors._ "

Cas flicked on the television and turned to one of the news channels. All across the bottom of the screen over what looked like pre-recorded discussions were instructions in bold, strong words all saying the same thing: go home, stay home, do not leave.

"This... is Lucifer," Cas said, sadly. "He is going to destroy civilisation, isn't he?"

" _We think that's kinda his plan. Look. From what we can tell, some folks are taking the advice and going back home, but there's an awful lot of folks trying to flee the dense population areas, and then there's... there's looting and violence, when people realise they're gonna need supplies if this is protracted. Seems like the military and the police and even the firefighters are trying to corral people up, but... there's more angry, frightened civilians than there are guys to control them._ "

"This is terrible," Cas said. Even he could work that out. 

" _Cas... you think you could ask Crowley if he knows a way to fix this?_ "

"I will... ask, but I am not sure he has the ability to undo Lucifer's handiwork. Sam... Sam are you all safe?"

" _Yeah. I think Dean knew what was coming. He filled the place with tins and frozen pizzas. I'm... I'm immune, but Dean isn't. Well. I don't think he is._ "

"Could that immunity be used to protect others?"

There was a snort down the phone. "Maybe if we started drip-feeding demon blood to all the kids who survive... Cas, I don't think there's a medical solution to this. I think it's a case of kill Lucifer, once and for all."

"And you think that would somehow cure people?"

" _No, but either the most powerful supernatural being around could fix it, or at least we could wipe out the Croats and start over with whatever's left of humanity_."

"I... I see, Sam. Alright. I will speak with Crowley. I am not sure if I will have any good news for you, but I will be in touch."

" _Stay safe_."

Cas disconnected the call, and slipped his cell phone back into his pocket.

"No good news, huh?" Cecily asked, once he'd regained his composure.

"I have never... heard Sam so resigned," he confessed. "But I do not know what to suggest, either. Abaddon alone was difficult enough an enemy. With Lucifer on her side, too... how do we even begin to..." Cas rubbed at his arm. It was burning again, it seemed to hurt most when he was feeling stressed. 

"Well, I guess we're lucky there's only two mouths to feed: you and AJ. And you won't be fighting for AJ's cat food unless things get super bad."

"Do you have any contacts we could use?"

"Well, I have people - had - people in most major fields of industry, and a few in government, but quite a few of them got hunted down when Abaddon seized control. When Crowley was gone, it was... difficult for us. And then a lot of them just sold their talents on anyway. Demons, ya know? All very fast to follow the strongest voice in the dark."

"I see."

"I'll try. No promises. But I'll try."

***

"Kevin... Kevin?"

Dean hadn't found him in the study, so he went to the Prophet's bedroom. "Kevin?" he tried again, before rapping with his knuckles on the door. "You in there, man?" 

There wasn't an answer, not even a grunt. The kid was polite, so even if he was enjoying some 'private' time, he was sure Kevin would have called out to him. He pushed the door open, and peered inside. Nope. Nothing.

A little further down the corridor was Linda's room. Dean did not often have a reason to speak to her, to be honest. She was polite enough, but she had even less in common with him than Kevin did, and he always felt a bit guilty around her. "Linda?" he called out. "Mrs. Tran?"

No answer, so he pushed into her room, and it was empty, too. This was getting weird. They didn't need any supplies, and he'd told them both to be careful anyway. He was sure that Linda wouldn't have let Kevin go gallivanting off when there was a very real source of danger. The Hunter went back into the study.

There on the table was the notes Kevin had been working on, the translations. He picked up the little stack of papers, leafing through them. But the last page? It was in a completely different hand to the translations, and it wasn't from Metatron's notes, he was sure. Dean shuffled it to the front, skimming through and... _sonofabitch_.

"SAM!"

Dean waited for Sam to come answer him, re-reading the note.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, skittering around the corner and sliding on the polished flooring.

"It's Linda and Kevin."

"What's wrong?"

"They've upped and left," Dean said, shoving the paper at Sam.

As his brother started to read through the brief note - apology, a thanks, a brief explanation and a request not to be followed - Dean paced up and down, jaw clenched to keep the vitriol inside.

"This makes no sense," Sam said, when he'd read it what felt like ten times.

"Yep. Zombie Central outside, and _now_ his mom gets cold feet? Thinks he's safer - for some lame-ass reason - out there on the road, instead of somewhere with supplies, with weapons, with people who know how to protect them?"

"How long ago did they go?"

"I dunno. Could be hours. I haven't seen them since breakfast, Sam. I have no idea which direction they went in, and even if they _can_ get anywhere. They're miles from home, and if the army finds them wandering around homeless, chances are high they'll get sent to some abandoned house or some concentration camp or something... I don't know, Sam. I really don't."

Dean knew he'd been saying that with increasing frequency of late. It was all just... going to Hell. Every year it seemed to get harder, it seemed to be just one disaster followed by another. He wanted to push his fist through the wall... but where would that get him? Nowhere. That was where.

"You tried calling them?"

The older brother snorted. "No. I just found the note, but Linda's been reading all the books. I've been giving her and Kevin help, for weeks now, on how to survive and stay hidden. You know. Just in case. The first thing she'll do is ditch her current phones, or at least yank the SIMs from them. She's a smart cookie, and Kevin's more than just book smart too. Runs in the family, I guess."

"So we... let them run?"

"Sam, they don't wanna be here any more. They want to leave. Like rats leaving a sinking ship, I guess. It's just you and me, now."

"And Cas and Crowley and Cecily."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Really?"

"If we're up against the wall, you really gonna turn down their help?"

"You think they want to help us?"

"I think they all want the same thing as us, and I think if they weren't prepared to work with us, then Cas wouldn't be calling to ask how we were."

"...fine."

"Dean. I really don't get you. Why are you so down on this?"

"I told you, Sam. I'll tell you every damn time you ask me, and my opinion isn't gonna change."

"Right. Well. I guess Kevin didn't find anything, which means we've only got one thing left to try."

"Sam... you know that's not a good idea."

"Nope. But it's the best one we have. Gadreel is going to have to see if we can get to Lucifer's memories."

"That's... Sam. What if you--"

The younger brother snorted in disgust. "I won't. And if I do? Well. If it's the only real lead we have on this... it's worth the risk. Don't you tell me I'm not. I'm just one person, Dean, and the world is ending. Again. You can't just keep dodging bullets, or expecting we'll win every battle. One of these days, we're gonna fail."

"Not if I have anything to do with it."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean was worrying. Of course Dean was worrying: Sam was involved. Cas could no longer really blame him, because he sort of understood, now. Anything that involved Crowley and Cas was worried, and just because Sam and Dean were brothers instead of lovers, it didn't mean their depth of feeling was any less. Sam and Crowley were working on some method of securing him, and Cas knew he wasn't really needed. Gadreel knew Enochian as well as he did, and Crowley had more of a knack for magic than his own - currently depowered - self.

So Cas walked over to Dean. Dean who was furiously avoiding meeting his eyes, of course. Why would Cas be surprised?

"May I speak with you, Dean?"

"What do you want, Cas?"

Just because Cas knew what to expect, it did not mean that he enjoyed being spoken to like this. "I would like to speak just you and I, Dean. Is that okay?"

Dean shrugged and walked towards the kitchen, so Cas took that as a yes and followed. He could almost see the need in the Hunter's shoulders, could almost hear the sound of a bottle cap being released from a beer. That was one vice Cas had not really ever got into, even as a human, and it was probably for the best. He watched as Dean instead turned away from the counter, as he reached behind him with his hands and braced. He felt very much as if he was being scrutinised.

"What did you want, Cas?"

"I am sorry that the Pr-- that Kevin and Linda have gone."

"Yeah, well. Can't say as I blame 'em. If the world is ending, there's more fun places to be than Angel Vessel Central."

"We have not yet found the Blade."

"Nah. Figured you'd tell me if you had." Dean's tongue ran out and over his lips. "You gonna show me?"

"Show you...?"

"I'm guessing you can see it. The Mark."

Cas realised he had never shown Dean. Even Cecily had not seen it, unless she had glimpsed it in the hotel room, that night. Or day. Time got a little hazy for him, occasionally. Cas pushed up his sleeve and held his arm out, showing the angry, red welt that marred his forearm. He was gratified by the strange little hiss of breath through Dean's teeth, and then he covered it back up.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not so much 'hurt' as... 'induce a lingering desire to commit murder'..."

Dean snorted. "You sure it's the Mark of Cain, and not Croatoan? Because that sounds pretty much like everyone topside, right now."

Despite himself, Cas smiled. "No. I have not felt the urge to spread this, just..."

"Just to bash my skull in, I'm guessing?"

Cas said nothing, he simply held Dean's eyes.

"I guess I understand," Dean said, slowly. "I was kind of a dick to you and your asshole of a boyfriend. But we weren't trying to cure him just to be cruel, you know. We--"

"I understand that you thought that part was good, Dean, I do. I would be a hypocrite if I did not. After all, it was when I was trying to save Heaven that I... opened Purgatory. It is what you did next that feels... worst. That you would hide him from me, allow me to think he was dead... and not even offer me support. You knew I was Graceless. You knew what had happened."

"Yeah. But... Zeke - Gadreel - whatever... Cas, it was _Sam_. I gotta look out for him."

"At the cost of everything else?"

"Tell me you wouldn't do the same, for Crowley?"

Would he? Cas glanced back, catching the hint of his demon's jacket as he, Sam and Gadreel continued their preparations. "I suppose you are correct."

"So you understand?"

"Do you understand me?" Cas countered. 

"I... I guess I do."

"Then I guess I do, too."

"So... we're cool?"

"That depends," Cas said, with a cautious smile. "Are you going to attempt to kidnap or murder my King again?"

"I think I've learned my lesson, Cas. Honestly."

"I hope so." But he did not want to continue that conversation any longer than was entirely necessary. "Do you... think this plan of Gadreel's will work?"

"Really? I've got no frigging clue. Best I can hope, is you were able to take all the bad crap out of his head last time. Maybe you got rid of the worst of it. Maybe Gadreel can keep his head from exploding under the crazy, but... he won't take no for an answer. Stubborn dick."

"It seems to be a Winchester trait," Cas mused. 

"Sometimes I miss the Cas who used to tell us jokes about goats, you know."

"That is patently untrue, Dean. And you simply did not appreciate good humour."

"Fine... okay. I get it. New Cas is here to stay... c'mon. I'm sick and tired of us being anything but friends."

"I am, too." Cas offered a little smile.

"Let's go see how crazy my kid brother is today. Alright? If we have to, you go for the hair, I'll grab the legs."

Cas thought that was a fair division of labour, and he pushed off after Dean. When they got back to the main room, Crowley glanced up at him, checking on him. He appreciated the gesture, and he nodded just a little: yes, I am okay.

Sam was strapped into a chair, similar to how Crowley had been restrained. The belts had slightly different sigils etched into the thick leather bands, though, and there was no need for a Devil's Trap below him. For all he was tied down, he looked surprisingly relaxed and comfortable. Cas sat on one of the chairs off to the side, mostly here for moral support and to prevent Dean and Crowley from killing one another, if he was honest. 

"You sure you want him doing this?" Dean asked, nodding towards Crowley.

"Dean... I really don't think you've got any experience in hypnotising people, and Cas doesn't either," Sam answered.

"To be fair," Crowley said, "...neither do I, but I do have a good method of making people talk. Don't worry, I'm not getting the thumbscrews out. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve, as King of Hell. All sorts of tricks. And unless you want me to find some gypsy woman, or some over-paid smoking and erectile dysfunction counsellor...?"

"I'm sure," Sam said, instead.

Dean nodded, and sat down on the opposite side to Cas. He clasped his hands together, and leaned his elbows down onto his knees. He looked up at Crowley, and then back to Sam.

"Okay. Samdreel... how do you want to play this?" the demon asked.

"I believe it is better if Sam is unconscious for this, in case the memories are painful," his voice replied, but it was clear that was Gadreel answering. "I will put him as far under as it is possible for me to do so."

Crowley shrugged. "Whatever you think best. Alright. I guess we need to find the bits of memory we know are Lucifer's. Not the Pit, but just before. Can you take us there?"

Gadreel closed his eyes, and they moved behind his lids as he searched. "I am... struggling..."

"Try to think backwards. Try to remember when you were Lucifer, as well as Sam," Crowley said. "Find a time when you were both, and we can work from there."

"We were there," Cas said. "Dean and I, and Bobby. Michael was there in Adam."

"Yeah, Cas called Michael an 'assbutt' and threw a Molotov cocktail," Dean agreed.

Gadreel seemed to sink a little, then. He was no longer sitting proudly, but slumping a bit. "I can... see a car..."

"Yep! Baby. She was there," Dean agreed. "We all met up and--"

Gadreel sat sharply upright. "I was in Sam."

"No, that was--"

Crowley put his hand up to silence Dean, shaking his head.

"I was in Sam," the angel repeated. "Sam is my - was my - is - my vessel..." 

"Who does he think he is?" Dean hissed.

"Gadreel is trying to access someone else's memories," Crowley said, just as softly. "It may well be difficult for him to sort through pronouns while he's doing it. Try not to disrupt this."

Sam - Gadreel - Lucifer - laughed, eyes opening blue and fixing on Dean. "So, Dean. My brother was not as persuasive as me. You were there, but Michael was in your half-brother. It was only me in the vessel made for me... in Sam."

"Yeah, we get it, you're a pretty smooth operator. Good job, Satan."

"And here I am again."

Crowley decided that was enough baiting. "Look. We're not here to compare who's on first, we want to know about Gabriel."

Sam's head cocked to one side, the blue eyes considering. They were... cold suddenly. Cold and hard. "Why do you want to know about Gabriel?" 

"He's a friend of ours," Dean said. "Sort of. Occasionally a pain in the ass. Also went by Loki?"

"Loki is... Loki was simply his way of hiding from Heaven," the angel in Sam answered. "That was not who he truly was. He had... lost his way. Spent too much time amongst Pagan filth and humanity."

"Yep. That's the guy." Dean rocked further forwards on his chair. "You seen him?"

The memory of Lucifer suddenly lurched in the chair, trying to charge at Dean. " _You are not fit to lick the feet of the vessel he inhabited, monkey _."__

__Crowley took a half-step back in surprise. "Alright, someone's tetchy."_ _

__His head snapped around, eyes narrowed. "You are no better, demon."_ _

__"I'm not the one who killed my brother, Luci, dear," Crowley said, his tone level._ _

__"You do not understand. He was dead to me the moment he put these petty abominations in front of his own brothers."_ _

__"So you killed him," Cas said, choosing to enter the conversation quietly._ _

__Lucifer's memory turned his attention to the other - once - angel. "Another one of you... although I see you're sadly lacking now, Castiel. Did you choose to rip out your wings to join them? Do you really love them that much?"_ _

__"How did you kill Gabriel?" Cas asked, refusing to answer the needling._ _

__"The same way I am going to kill _you_ , Castiel. Don't think I don't remember... how are you even alive? I pulled you apart from the **seams**. I did it before, I will do it again, I w--"_ _

__Crowley grabbed a leather belt, pushing it into Sam's mouth. He resisted, choking over it as the demon struggled to gag him._ _

__"What are you doing?" Dean yelled, pushing to his feet._ _

__"Gadreel does not have control over this, Dean, if you haven't realised," Crowley explained, fastening the belt in place. "That's not your pet angel talking, which means the Father of Lies could either - well - be lying, or just refuse to answer. Either way, this is not what we bargained for, so we're going to need to put Lucifer back in his box."_ _

__"But he remembers!"_ _

__"Yes, he remembers. But as I said, he could lie. Not to mention, he did just give you an answer, even if it wasn't the one you wanted. And if it's true that he used his powers - which, let's face it, is the most likely answer anyway - then we've got our answer, and we're no further forwards."_ _

__"You just..."_ _

__"Dean," Cas jumped in, moving to put a hand on his shoulder. "Crowley is right. This... was worth trying, but it was a long shot at best. Now we need to get back to Gadreel and Sam."_ _

__"How do we do that?" Dean asked, running hands through his hair._ _

__"Did you not tell me, once, that you got through to your brother by memories? And that was when it really was Lucifer inside of him."_ _

__"Right."_ _

__"So... if you do the same, now, it should work again." Cas went to retrieve a chair, which he put facing Sam._ _

__After a brief hesitation, Dean sat in it._ _

__"Sammy... Sammy, I know you're in there."_ _

__At Dean's gesture, Crowley pulled the belt free, being careful not to get bitten in the process._ _

__Lucifer laughed, spittle trailing from Sam's lips. "He is. But I'm in control, now."_ _

__"No... that ain't true. You're just a memory, you dick. And you know what? We won. **We** won. Not you." Dean tried to keep the shake from his voice. They had. They had won... last time. This time it seemed worse, somehow, but... he couldn't show weakness. Lucifer was an apex predator: if he showed any underbelly, then he'd lose this. "So I'm talking to **Sam** , not you. I'm talking to the guy who beat your damn fool ass. The one who cared more about his brother, than you did yours. You know that? You know you're just a psycho, selfish, ass-wipe?"_ _

__"I am God's most glorious creation, Dean. I am beauty the likes of which you could not even witness."_ _

__"You're a fucking leech, is what you are. You're a giant, tantrum-throwing baby. You're nothing, Lucifer. Nothing. So get the **HELL** out of Sammy. **Sam**. Look at me. Look at me..."_ _

__There was confusion on Sam's face, a wavering, an uncertainty. "D-Dean?"_ _

__Dean clapped his hands onto Sam's knees. "Stay with me, bro. Come on. You're safe. Come back. Wake up."_ _

__"Dean's right, Moose. You need to come back to Kansas."_ _

__"I..." Sam shuffled in his chair, and then blue flared up._ _

__"I apologise. It was... it was more difficult than I imagined to control the memories," Gadreel explained. "If I did not go into them deeply, they were too distant. But when I entered them fully, I lost... I lost control."_ _

__"You did good, Feathers," Crowley said, starting work unbuckling the restraints._ _

__Dean decided that if he'd let Crowley tie Sam down, he could let him assist in untying him, too, and went to work on his other arm. "Yeah, you did good. Both of you. Just a shame that dick didn't give us something we could use. Don't suppose you saw a Croatoan cure when you were up in there, did you?"_ _

__"I find it unlikely that Lucifer would invent a cure," Gadreel replied._ _

__"Yeah, I'm with him," Sam agreed._ _

__Dean was never going to get over how freaky that was._ _

__"Hey... shouldn't you think about finding some new digs, anyway? If Metatron is playing both sides, then what's the use of you still being in Sam, now?"_ _

__"It's okay," Sam said, quietly. "I don't think Lucifer could get in me as easily with Gadreel in already."_ _

__"...right." Dean swallowed. "Good reason, I guess."_ _

__"Well, fun as this has been, my own angel and I need to go back to our place," Crowley said, holding his hand out for Cas. "But really, it was a blast. Always love to torment Lucifer. Next time you two - three - want to double date, call me?"_ _

__"Yes," Cas agreed. "Please. Call us."_ _


	8. Chapter 8

"It feels... wrong, Crowley. That's all I can say."

They were lying on their bed. Cas was on his front, propped up on a small pile of pillows. Crowley was sprawled beside him, kissing over his bare shoulders and neck. Cas appreciated the touches, and the toes that slid across his calves. He was feeling pleasantly buzzed from their 'roll in the hay', but there was still that... burning. That anger. That... 

"Why, Cas? You're still helping."

"But I'm help _less_ ," he argued. 

Case in point, he thought, as Crowley rolled him over onto his back. Cas went willingly, only moving one arm to rest his head on. Crowley was pressed up against him, peering down with confusion. "Is this... because of your Grace?" Crowley asked, his hand moving to stroke up and down Cas' chest, trying to soothe him.

"It's not just that. It's not just the fact I'm... I'm not an angel. It's that you, Cecily, Sam and Dean all seem to think I need to be kept in some glass cage, in case I get a papercut and end up infected. It's... it's the fact that I'm a **soldier** , and I'm stuck here."

Crowley grabbed for his other wrist, and Cas stared at the ceiling in frustration. 

"It's the Mark, then?"

"It's not just the Mark," Cas insisted.

"But it's not helping. You want to... do things. Active things."

Cas nodded. "I feel that being stuck here... I am worse than useless. Before--" but no, he stopped, and bit his lip.

"Cas...?"

"Nothing."

The demon let go of his wrist, and dropped his head down onto the pillow beside Cas'. "You know, if we play a staring game, I have an unnatural advantage over you, now. And I'm the King of Hell. I won't hesitate to plumb depths to win."

Fine, Cas thought. He grabbed a pillow and whacked him on the head, which just made Crowley laugh and retaliate. 

"Come on," Crowley said, jumping to his feet on the bed, wobbling back and forth as Cas moved the mattress. "If we're having this fight, we're doing it properly. Get up."

The King did, at least, hold his hand out to help Cas up, and he got to his feet, too. Then he clutched his pillow defensively in front of him, and edged backwards towards the headboard, fighting the way the springs bounced underfoot. "You realise a 'pillow fight' will not appease Cain's Heir?"

"This is just round one, Cas. After that we've got the jello wrestling. And then there's the tonsil hockey. Let's not forget the supersoakers filled with lube."

"This is serious!" Cas insisted, swinging for his head and nearly over-balancing. "This is the end of the world!"

"Sexual Olympics are the height of seriousness, my dear angel!" came the reply, with a duck under the swipe, and a heavy thud of padded down feathers to the torso. "So are you going to tell me what you were-- come back!"

Cas decided that the bed really was not a safe battleground. It might be padded, but it was also far too mobile underfoot, and he needed a sounder footing if he was going to take a serious swing at him.

"Just that at least when I was on my own, all I had was Cecily telling me to use the handbrake a million times, but I did fine on my own!"

Crowley paused in his chasing. "Oh."

"...I'd rather have you," Cas pointed out, "...but sometimes I feel like you think I'm a child, now."

"Cas... you know it's only because I don't want to lose you, right?" 

This pillow fight had turned far too serious, so Cas threw the offending item at Crowley's head.

"...and then there's that," the demon pointed out. "If you want to be taken seriously, perhaps you shouldn't throw your toys around."

"You are the one who decided to invent the Sexual Olympics to calm the savage beast in me," Cas said, hands on his hips.

Crowley threw his pillow at Cas.

Cas let it hit his face, then fall to the floor. He was trying very, very hard not to laugh.

"Oh, come on, kitten. Can we kiss and make up? I promise I'll stop treating you with kid gloves, if you promise when you get antsy that you tell me so we can wrestle?"

"...fine," Cas said, trying to sound like it was begrudging, and not relieved. He knew Crowley would not be convinced, though. He was about as transparent as glass was. "But you need to work harder on my savage beast. I know first hand that it is not feeling very appeased right now."

"I'm ever so sorry." That predatory light was back in the demon's eyes, and he started to stalk closer, unblinking. "How would you like it to be tamed? Should I feed it choice steak? Should I lay down kills at its feet? Or does it need a Triathlon, perhaps?" He put his hands on Cas' hips, tugging him in close.

Cas nipped his teeth just shy of Crowley's nose. "You could try all of the above, to see which is most effective," he suggested.

"...how do you want your steak, monsieur?" 

A smirk. "Rare."

***

"Okay, so, if this is the part where you think I've magically fixed everything, we should probably disconnect now."

As openings went, Dean had to hand it to Charlie: that was a good one. 

"I'd settle for 'have some good news', but fixing would have been nice," he said.

"What counts as 'good news'?" she asked, visibly cringing. "Because I could totally try putting a spin on something a la '1984' in doublespeak?"

"You're pretty much talking that already, Charlie. Just... tell me what's happening?"

"Well. Because of the national emergency thing, all my channels are pretty much jammed up. Like, every major department has initiated lockdown procedures. Which just makes things a tiny bit more difficult, but not impossible. I'm keeping tabs on the major news outlets, but as you know those are pretttty much just bleating out the party line. The real news is all on unofficial, unmonitored social media, but I don't know how much longer they're gonna leave the internet up for."

"They... can turn the internet off?"

"Pretty much. It's not easy, but it's doable."

"Wow. Okay."

"Same with the cell phone network. Still running for now, but who knows how much longer? And you have to think, with only military personnel and a few 'key workers' being mobile? How long will it be before the whole economy collapses? You're looking at power cuts, food shortages, no health care, no sanitation... pretty much worse case scenario, and the only guys ready for it are Hunters, Bear Grylls, the crazy-ass survivalist colonies, the Amish and... oh. I guess anyone who kept their house stocked in case of the Zombocalypse."

"The... zombie Apocalypse?"

She snapped her fingers, and pointed at the screen. "That's the one!"

"Won't the military be running things? Aren't they supposed to be organising supply runs to communities?"

"Yeah, but without farmers, or importing, or people working in factories... where do you think all the food will come from, Dean? Not to mention they also have to keep law and order."

"So have you found anything other than the imminent collapse of society as we know it?"

"Oh... well. Yeah. You're right, it's that Croatoan thing. All the medical reports are pretty much how you described the behaviour, plus the sulphur in the blood stream. They haven't worked out a cure, yet, but they are now routinely testing and quarantining. I haven't seen anything specifically... well. Demonic. Like supernatural stuff. I think pretty much all the uglies are keeping their heads down to see what happens. A lot of them are gonna be pissed about the lack of food supply, though."

"Cry me a river," Dean mumbled. A few starved Vampires? Well, he wasn't too cut up about that.

"The angels seem to be banding into two groups, from the intel I've managed to piece together. They're not very good at covering their tracks, but they also don't make effective use of technology. Bartholomew is one, and Malachai is the other. Seems to be what your source said, so that's nice to know."

"I take it you really don't have _any_ good news for me?"

"Unlocking a new area of Candy Crush? No... I'm sorry. I wish I did have the answers. I can probably help you evade patrols if you need to go out on - you know - Hunting things. Trips. But... I'm like the Shadow Broker, and I'm only as good as the intelligence I can access. And there isn't that much _to_ access right now. Did you know even the Veep's sick?"

"The Vice President?"

"Yep. Not in the mainstream media, but there's speculation on the political blogs, complete with times and dates of his last sightings, and it looks like we've lost him. Possibly also lost half the Pentagon."

"I... I don't want to know, do I?"

"Probably not."

"Right. Okay. Keep... keep up the good work. And if you can find the Trans..."

"Yes, I'm still looking. I think I caught a trail of them headed west, but it's difficult to be sure. They're doing a good job keeping off radar. You taught them well."

"That's what I was worrying... alright. You keep your head down, and remember no talking to strange men."

"Or women."

"Or women. You're our eyes, remember?"

"And it is a sacred duty indeed," Charlie said, hand over her heart and a look of utter dedication.

"Doof. Alright. I'll call you when I know anything."

"Later!"

Dean ended the call and shut the laptop lid. He hadn't even considered they might lose power. He was going to have to try a supply run for batteries, maybe see if he could turn over a hardware store for some portable generators. Maybe a wood-powered one.


	9. Chapter 9

One morning... Sam just wasn't there. Dean got up, showered, put the coffee in the percolator... but when he yelled out to Sammy to see how he wanted his eggs doing (and they needed eating, they weren't going to keep forever, so unless he found some chickens soon it was going to be the last egg breakfast for some time, possibly...) When he yelled out? Sam didn't reply.

So Dean went to his room and hollered outside the door. Still no answer.

There was that sinking feeling again. The one he'd last felt like this just before he'd found the goodbye note from Mrs Tran, the one that had felt almost like a suicide note, to be honest. He hammered on the door, and when that got no answer, he pushed it open.

No Sam. No Sam, and no note. Fuck! Fuck. Dean didn't know if Sam had gotten it into his head to go off alone, or if maybe it was that fucking angel in his head (should have kicked him out, should never have let him in, should **never** have let him _stay_ ). Damnit! He rifled through Sam's possessions, and saw his main cell phone was still there, which meant if he'd taken one, he'd taken a burner so no one could track him with the GPS. Dick. There wasn't much missing, which meant he either didn't plan to be gone long, or he didn't plan to... be gone long. And survive, anyway. Dean swiped everything from the bedside cabinet in a fit of rage, before dropping down onto his brother's bed.

Why? There'd been no warning. Nothing. He could have understood it, maybe, if they'd had words. But what was the last thing they'd said? Dean didn't even remember any more. Nothing memorable, anyway. And what did he think he'd accomplish by this? Was he off to say yes to the Devil? Or was he going to try hiding? Why would anywhere be safer than here, with Dean? Stupid, stupid Sam.

He pulled out his own phone and rang every number he knew. Voicemail after voicemail. 

He walked down to the garage, to see if any of the cars were missing, phone held between shoulder and ear as he walked.

"Yeah, it's me. Have you heard from Sam?"

" _Not since Tuesday_ ," Cas replied. " _Is there a problem?_ "

"Damn straight there's a problem. Sam's gone. No word, no note, nothing. Just gone."

" _Could he have gone for supplies, or perhaps for a run?_ "

"A run? Now? When you can get shot for being out with the curfew in effect?"

" _I am sorry, Dean, I do not know where he is_."

"What about the devil you know?"

" _I will ask... please do not hang up..._ "

Dean noticed the empty berth where a motorbike had been parked until recently, even as he listened to the muffled noises of discussion down the line. Cas had put his hand over the phone to talk it through, and it was sounding a little heated. Not like he was asking for anything special. Surely Crowley could just do some kind of...

" _He says your spellwork is often too good, and it is not as simple as turning on a - I don't know what one of those is. Anyway. Your warding tattoos and the angel inside of Sam is making it almost - no - actually impossible to pinpoint him. I am sorry, Dean. I will ask Cecily to set up her monitoring software, but we are not running at our full capacity in this place_."

"No... no, I get it."

" _Do you have any idea why he has left?_ "

"See... that's the thing. He didn't say anything. Not a peep. So I'm having to ask myself... was it that asshole Gadreel, or..."

" _Sam would not consent to being Lucifer's vessel again_ ," Cas said, trying to sound reassuring. Trying. Dean was not reassured.

"Now, I keep telling myself that. But the thing is he did. Once, maybe even twice. You remember Zach bounced me forwards... to this year? Yeah. Sam went out to Detroit and never left, but I didn't get a chance to ask that Sam **why**."

" _You think Sam would say yes, because of a vision you saw five years ago?_ "

"I'm just saying... it's the same sort of situation. Worse, maybe, because at least last time there was maybe the hope Michael would stop it, even if it meant the end of the world. It was... something. Now? Now it's pretty much just see how shitty Lucifer can make the world. If he was gonna say yes, don't you think it'd... be now?"

There was a long pause as Cas worked through it. Dean looked up to the ceiling, as if the answer might be scrawled up there. First Cas left him for Crowley, then Linda took Kevin, now Gadreel took Sam. What the Hell was he supposed to do in this bunker on his own? He almost... almost wanted to ask Cas to bring the demons and move back in, but it would sound pathetic, wouldn't it? Dean Winchester... afraid of being home alone, at the end of the world? 

It wasn't that. It wasn't a fear of being alone... not really. It was more complicated than that, although he did have to admit that it sent a cold, unpleasant thrill down his spine. Would he die here? Would he die in this bunker, and no one even know? If Cas and Crowley didn't check up on him, and Charlie was stuck wherever she was... he could just... die. Here. Alone. Rot into nothing.

Not that he would. Not that he would stay here, not now. If Sam was gone, if he wasn't here to keep safe, then there was really no reason for Dean to stay in this building of dead men. Which meant... yeah. He'd give it a day or two, while he packed and while Charlie and Cecily tried their respective wonders, and then he'd... he'd just have to try to kill Satan. 

The Colt hadn't worked, but maybe an angel blade would? Or... Death? Or... the First Blade? That was the only other lead. He could offer his help to the angel-and-demons bipartisan group, see if...

" _What will you do?_ " Cas asked, breaking the silence.

Dean had forgotten he was on the phone to him, to be honest.

"I'll think of something."

" _Is there anything else I can do, Dean?_ "

"Point me in the direction of your pocket knife."

" _But Dean--_ "

"I mean it, Cas. It's our best lead right now. I just... it's either that or we pump Balthazar full of Purgatory and hope he could take down Lucifer. Do you really want Balthazar high on monster juice?"

There was an audible wince. " _I will make sure you have our latest information. Cecily believed she had located it... but we were trying to confirm before we attempted to retrieve it. I... you do know I will need to wield it, Dean?_ "

"I know that. So I'll get you wherever you need to go. We're in this together, now. For better or worse."

" _Sam will be okay._ "

"Yep. He will."

***

It was dumb, but so was Dean. It was probably his worst idea to date, but he had to see it for himself. It was easier to go undetected at night, so here he was, driving through Kansas shortly after nightfall with the headlights off, and the only sound the low purr of the Impala's engine. It didn't feel right to blast out through the tape deck. Charlie had said he was pretty much clear as long as he stuck to the side streets and didn't go near any of the big convenience stores, the mall, or the gas stations. Made sense. Also he had to steer clear of as much of the residential areas as possible, in case anyone reported him.

You couldn't avoid every home, though, and he saw more than a few drapes pull back when his car trundled past. Doubtless they were checking if it was a military patrol, or if it was maybe one of the supply vehicles, dishing out rations. Being off the radar meant he'd never been on the receiving end of one of those care packages, which was a mixed blessing. The long-life goods he'd bought up wouldn't last forever, but he also didn't really want the Men of Letters bunker being discovered. It would lead to all sorts of questions, and a secret base was only as good as it was secret.

There was graffiti, of course. More than once he saw the large, blocky letters of 'Croatoan' scrawled over shop fronts and even over cars, and other messages of people protesting the curfew, or panicked, doom-laden things about how the world was ending, or how it was a conspiracy. Lots of places had the windows broken through, but no one had bothered to patch over them, even. He guessed people had too much to work on.

Dean couldn't help but wonder where all the dead were. Had the army been digging shallow graves just out of town? Or were they burning the bodies? There had to be huge numbers dead by now, and there was no way to know for sure just how many people were still alive. There were polls and forums online, but Charlie had told him that 'trolls' would skew the figures just for the Hell of it, and that without an accurate census to follow, there wasn't an answer.

Two years. That's what it had taken, last time. Two years from Patient Zero to the Hell he'd seen. Hot zones, and the army shooting movement on sight. Cas utterly feckless and stoned, a commune of vigilantes and a version of him who thought nothing about shooting his companions without warning, or throwing them - even **Cas** \- in as bait, so he could sneak around the back and kill Lucifer, kill... his brother.

Dean didn't want to be that Dean. He didn't want to be so utterly without hope that he didn't even care about _trying_ any more. That other him? The one with multiple women (okay that did sound a _bit_ like him, but he was nowhere near as callous as that), the one whose eyes looked dead. 

Say yes. That's what the other Dean had said. Say yes. End this. But ending this... meant ending everything. If they could get Michael out, then Michael would destroy the world. The good would go up, the bad would go down... and there'd be no world left to go to Hell. He was pretty hopeful all the shit he'd done over the years balanced him more to the good than the bad, and that when the archangels had finished fighting, he and Sammy would both get to move on. Cas... Cas would go up, probably. Crowley would go down, but that was right. Only bad people went to - and stayed in - Hell. Right?

He didn't want the world to end, but as he drove past yet more broken glass, as he had to slam the brakes not to hit a kid who ran straight out in front of him... kid couldn't be more than thirteen. The boy stared at him with eyes that were dead, and Dean realised straight off he was already turned, already a Croat. With a silent prayer for forgiveness, he slammed his foot on the gas, and felt the sickening crunch as the grille hit the boy. There were two bumps underneath, and then Dean had seen enough. He turned around the next block and gunned it back to the bunker.


	10. Chapter 10

"Cecily, I could kiss you. If I was not spoken for, I probably would whisk you off your feet right this instant."

The younger demon tried to fight down a little nervous giggle at that. "Don't let your angel hear you say that, I don't want to find AJ's head on my pillow one morning."

"Oh, believe me, Cas wouldn't take his rage out on an innocent feline. If my own kitten was letting his claws out, it'd be you he scratched." Crowley winked at her. "Don't worry. He's actually grown quite fond of you."

"Well... good. That he likes me, I mean. Not that he might claw my face off."

"Do I even want to know how you found it?"

Cecily shook her head. "It took a lot of bribes, some strong-arming, three times my weight in gold bullion and a lot of tinned sardines."

"...that sounds like the kind of tale I want to hear over several stiff drinks, when we don't have Armageddon looming," he agreed. 

"Now we just have to find a way to get close to Lucifer, and Abaddon, too..."

Which was when Castiel entered the room. "Did I overhear correctly?"

Crowley nodded, and patted his knee, expectantly. "If you think you overheard us saying we're ready for the main event, then yes."

Cas perched on Crowley's knee, letting the demon wrap arms around his waist. "That is wonderful news."

"Well, I need to collect the Blade first," Cecily demurred, "...but you should totes start looking for the coldest spot on the map, because it's almost time to see the Wizard. And then, you know, kill him."

"Cecily, would you be a gem and call Dean and warn him to pack his bags for the showdown? Say... I'll go fetch him in an hour or so?"

"Sure thing, boss!" Cecily grinned, clearly reading between the lines. She bounced up and off to the war room to fill Dean in, leaving the angel and the King of Hell alone.

When she was gone, Crowley's attention focussed wholly on Cas. "I bet you never thought we'd get to this point, did you?" 

Cas dropped his head against his King's, putting his hands over the ones clasped around him. "I admit I did not. It seemed so very impossible, only a few days ago."

"This is what happens when the right people work together, Cas. You and me and Cecily... and those brothers if they ever come to their senses... we're an unstoppable team. Really."

"You are worried," Cas said, suddenly working out what the strange undertone to Crowley's voice was. He shuffled around on his knee, looking at him from too close up.

"About Luci?"

But that wasn't it. "About... me. You're worried about putting me in harm's way. Aren't you?"

"Well, I can't say I'm over the moon about it," Crowley admitted, slowly. "You know how important you are to me."

The ex-angel nodded. "Yes. I do know. But you also know that it is not something you can do. Cain gave the Mark to me, and so it is I who must kill them. There is no way around that."

Cas stared down at the fingers that reached to rub at his wrist, as if Crowley was afraid to touch any higher up on his arm, for fear of sending him into some form of berserker rage. He didn't think that would happen, but even that tiny reminder of this cursed thing that lay between them... hurt. It hurt a lot.

"Unless we moved the Mark to someone else."

That made Cas jump, pulling his wrist away from Crowley's fingers. His voice was sharp. "No."

"You haven't even heard me out, Cas."

"You're not taking the Mark, Crowley."

That got him a heavy sigh from the demon, and Cas shook his head in point-blank refusal. 

"You're... you're vulnerable, Cas. And if Lucifer did manage to kill you, I don't know if I could undo it. You know yourself that archangels are insanely powerful, and Lucifer - and Michael - were the worst of the set."

"I survived against them before."

"But how, Cas? How? I've read the books, you know. And from them, and what you've told me, it seems to me the only explanation is God Himself in his infinite wisdom decided to respawn you. When I approached you about Purgatory, I meant what I said."

"So if I _should_ come back - even assuming he kills me - then I will."

"Cas..." Crowley did not like leaving things up to God. He was a demon, after all. He had every reason not to rely on blind faith, when he'd fallen so far from grace himself.

"I'll be fine," Cas promised, looping his arms around Crowley's neck, pushing his nose against the demon's. "I will. And I want to do this. It's my fault that Heaven is in a mess--"

"Abaddon and Lucifer are nobody's fault, Cas."

"Well, maybe. But if I can't fix my own home yet, I can at least try to fix Earth, and Hell. Metatron is in hiding until he knows who the victor is below. Bartholomew and Malachai are squabbling like children... but if we do not take Lucifer down, and soon, there will be no Earth left to save, and my siblings will either join Lucifer - and make him even more formidable - or die resisting him."

"...I can see I'm not going to win this fight, am I?"

Cas shook his head, no.

"Alright. Do I at least get one last--"

Cas made a strangled noise. "No!"

"What!?"

"No 'last' anything. That implies we will not win, and if we go into this convinced it will be our final stand, then we might as well throw away whatever little chance we have left."

"You know, you won't want me to say this, but... being human has changed you, Cas."

That was not what he was expecting. His head tilted to one side, curious what the demon meant. "How so?"

"For the better. I mean... it's like you're getting back to your old self. I know the whole Leviathan-Emmanuel-Lucifer-Purgatory thing really did a number on you, but now? Now... you're like the Cas I remember. The one who was ready to go toe to toe with three archangels. The one prepared to do anything to save the day. It's... it's good, if a little terrifying for me."

Cas smiled. "I have found it difficult, I agree..." He turned around to straddle his lap more effectively. "But you have never lost faith in me, even when I could barely string together three thoughts."

"You strung them together, Cas, just not always in a way that made any kind of sense to anyone who wasn't you. It does help, however, that you are exceedingly pretty," Crowley said, brushing it off.

But he knew better. It was there in the way his smile was slightly crooked, or the way his eyes crinkled around the edges. Cas put a finger over his lover's lips to silence any further protest.

"You believed in me, all along, and I won't let you lie about it, Crowley. You believed in me when my friends did not. You believed I was capable of fighting off the Leviathans. You believed in me when I was not myself, and when all we had to our names were the clothes on our backs and the blades up our sleeves. Without you, I would never have recovered. It was only through needing to avenge you that I coped with being a human, you know."

Crowley nipped at his fingers, so Cas rubbed his thumb over his lips and then let him speak.

"I think it's a fair trade, though. Your self-esteem for me being shown I can still be loved. Don't you?"

Cas made a show of considering it, rolling his eyes up as he calculated secret lists of pros and cons. Checks and balances. He tapped his fingers on Crowley's shoulders as he worked through the possibilities, even when Crowley started to rub slow, steady circles at the base of his spine. It was distracting, and it was pleasant, and it was _cheating_.

"Ca-as..."

"Alright," he huffed. "I agree. It is a fair trade. My eternal, undying adoration for your smug self, in return for you believing that I am actually intelligent."

"I wouldn't go so far as--"

Cas decided enough was enough, and he leaned in to shut the demon up in their favourite way: pressing his lips to Crowley's. It wasn't a 'goodbye' kiss, because they were going to be okay. It was just... it was just a 'shut the Hell up being a dick' kiss. Crowley seemed to approve, because he tilted his head slightly, his lips resisting at first before opening up. Cas dragged his tongue between them, teasing gently. The hand on his back kept rubbing in those small, warm circles and it was... nice. They kissed slowly, and Cas was grinning when they finally pulled back.

"Alright," Crowley said, his gruff voice even lower than usual. "You're smart. I'll admit, you're a master strategist."

That earned him a peck of lips to his nose. "I manage to stun you into silence, which is a small miracle in and of itself."

"I prefer it when you make me scream, though."

Cas' eyes slid over to the door, indicating that Cecily was _right there_. And then he looked sadly back down at the King below him.

"Alright. When this is all over, and we've taken back Hell, and saved the universe, and become heroes... I'll make sure she gets her own place."

The ex-seraph grinned. "Good. Because I have so very, very many things I want to make you scream."

"Cas, could you maybe not?"

"Not... what?"

"Be a bloody cocktease!" Crowley complained, pushing him off his lap.

Which just made Cas sigh heavily. "Alright. Alright. I'll behave. Although when a _demon_ is complaining about wickedness..."

"You know you've gone too far," he finished for him. "Come on, let's have a nice, cold glass of water so I can at least try to talk to Dean without imagining ripping your--"

Cas put his hand over Crowley's mouth, and then when there was a soft, wet slide of tongue over his palm, he pulled it back, horrified.

"Gotcha."

***

"And then there were four," Crowley mused, hands slung into the pockets of his long, black coat. "Four musketeers. The Fab Four. Like the Beatles, only less musically talented, unless you're secretly concealing your skills on the old gut strings? No?"

Dean narrowed his eyes at the question. "No."

"Pity. I'm a dab hand with the drum sticks, you know. Cecily's probably got a reasonable mezzo if not full soprano, and I think we've got the lower vocal range down to a fine art."

"I wish we were forming a 'band'," Cas said, trying to smooth things over. "But there are more pressing matters."

"Yeah. Like heading over to where the Devil's currently living."

"From what I can tell... it looks like he's over near Michigan," Cecily said.

"Lemme guess... just outside Detroit? Maybe, say, a sanatorium?"

The female demon frowned up at him. "How did you know?"

"Let's just say I've been there, done that. And if Lucifer is there, odds are high he's wearing white and prancing around like the douche he is."

"This was also in your vision?" Cas asked. "You spoke with Lucifer, did you not?"

"Yeah." Dean shuffled a little nervously. He still remembered waking up to hear the small group - including Cas - die as a diversion. "In that vision, dream, whatever... Sam had gone to Detroit and never come out, and Lucifer was holed up in Jackson County. Go figure why, he's the freaking Devil."

"Well, that leaves us with one question," Crowley said, tapping at his mouth.

"Which is?"

"Are we going to fight over shotgun, or are you going to let me take us all as close as possible?"

"And get stuck without a set of wheels if you bite the dust? Yeah, no." Dean shook his head. "I'm driving. You don't need to come with, if you don't want."

"Dean, if you're going to drive through military blockades to get to Detroit, you're going to need all the help you can get. Like, say... Jedi Mind tricks?"

The Hunter narrowed his eyes in displeasure, but he seemed to realise that he was fighting a losing battle. "Humans up front. Demons in the back. No arguments. Driver's choice."

Crowley smirked. "Almost as if you don't trust me to keep my hands off of Cas."

"Could we please not have this discussion right now?" Cas asked.

"Aw, I was having fun," the King said, with a little huff. "Fine. Let's make sure we're all packed. The sooner those bastards are dead, the better."

"Please can you arrange the route with Cecily?" Cas asked.

It was not what he was asking, and Crowley could see that. He squinted in an attempt to read the real meaning, but then he nodded. "Alright. We'll be in the garage. Don't be long."

"We won't be."

When the two demons had left, it was just Cas and Dean. Dean was leaning against the edge of the table, arms folded over his chest, defensively. Cas waited until he couldn't hear footsteps any more.

"What's this, then?" Dean asked. "Trouble in paradise?"

Cas shook his head. "I merely wanted to discuss something... delicate. With you."

"Yeah, shoot."

"Sam."

Dean's expression went even more statue-still.

"You must be considering the possibility that he is in Detroit in this reality, also."

"Thought had crossed my mind."

"So... he may have said yes?"

"No."

"No?"

"Sammy wouldn't. No. It was a play, that time. He knows what Lucifer's like. He wouldn't go and say yes again."

Cas paused, not sure what to say to that. "But if he--"

"He **hasn't** , okay? And... and if he has, then there's a good reason he did."

Which was a step closer, Cas supposed. "So if he's--"

Dean shook his head again. "He'll kick him out. He beat him last time, he'll beat him every time. Lucifer's no match for Sam, okay? It's all gonna be fine."

"Alright." Cas did not sound convinced. "If you insist."

"I do. Now. Get your ass in the Impala, before I decide I want to put you all on the bus."

Cas sighed. If Lucifer was already in Sam, and they had just one shot at this... he was just going to have to deal with it, and then with the consequences. And if Dean never forgave him... it would just be the way it was.


	11. Chapter 11

The drive was taking too long. It should have been fourteen hours, but because of the road blocks, they'd already been driving for thirteen and they were still miles out. 

"Dean... you need to be rested for this."

"I'm fine, Crowley. Honestly. Your compassion is noted, but really, it's not important."

"Like Hell it is. You already look like you've not slept since we found out about Lucifer. I'm not risking the fate of the world on someone suffering from sleep deprivation." 

"I don't sleep much. Never have. I'll be fine."

"Dean..." That was Cas. "Please. Crowley is right, you do look tired. I know you do not need as much rest as most people, but you do still need to sleep."

"Cas, it's bad enough having the King of Hell lecture me. Do you really need to jump on my case, too?"

"I'm tired, Dean. And I'm not even driving. Why don't you let me or Crowley drive?"

"Yeah, no."

"I am capable of driving, Dean. When I lost my wings, it was my only methods of transportation. I was actually reasonably good behind the wheel."

"It's nothing personal, it's just that... I can't sleep with anyone driving me but Sam, alright?"

"Ah." Cas looked at the ventilation grills. "I see."

There was silence for a moment, the only sound was Cecily fidgeting uncomfortably in the back, and the slow, steady thrum of the engine below the hood. 

"Fine." Dean's jaw was a taut line. "Fine. We'll pull over. You and me can grab some shut eye, and the Black Eyed Peas can keep watch."

"Ahem." Crowley leaned between the two front seats. "That's technically incorrect, you know."

Cas shot Crowley a warning look, and the demon shrugged, sitting back. "Fine. I just didn't appreciate the casual demonic racism, but you go ahead."

Back to silence, as Dean pulled the Impala over.

***

With the two humans sleeping fitfully inside the car, Crowley and Cecily sat on two camping chairs he'd snapped up. It was late, but turning to early. The air had the strange uncertainty about it, as the light started to seep into the sky, heralding the upcoming dawn. The chirruping insects seemed to all be getting ready for the new day about to start.

"You ever meet him?" Cecily asked.

"Who, Lucifer?"

She nodded, chewing on her lower lip.

"A few times. I never was part of his inner circle, though. You can probably tell the difference in our management styles... I was never going to rise any higher under the Old Guard."

"It was totally better organised under you, boss. I mean, I know it's Hell and all, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be efficient."

He smiled, knocking his foot against hers. "Precisely. Not to mention the very idea of order and structure must be so abhorrent to the majority of the damned that it had a double duty. Hell's supposed to be Hellish. Not just... cater to the masochists. Of which there are many and plenty."

The sun was starting the laborious job of lurching over the horizon, now. Crowley turned automatically to check on Cas and Dean, but they'd had the good sense to put a cover over the windshield which meant they'd not be immediately woken. 

"What was he like?" Cecily asked.

"Really? Lucifer... you saw Cas, when he was an angel, didn't you?"

"Not in person, no. Only on surveillance."

Crowley frowned. "Really?"

"Yep. I... well I thought you probably wanted to keep him away from other demons."

"I... thought I had introduced you. I'm sorry. That was very remiss of me."

She shrugged. "It's okay. I wasn't offended."

"Well... an angel? They aren't really their vessels, in the same way you aren't really your meatsuit. But where a demon is all curled smoke, an angel is compressed light. The bluest, purest light you could imagine. It's difficult to explain, but it's there. A glow deep inside - a halo, if you will - and the shadow of their wings. Castiel is beautiful, as an angel. Even more beautiful than I have words for."

"And Lucifer is, too?"

A slow nod. "Yes, but in a different way. He was called the Shining One, the Dawn Star. He was created to be God's most radiant angel. And he is, you can still see. He burns in this beautiful way, but it's... cold. He sucks the heat from everything, and I don't just mean physically. He's all sharp edges inside, like broken glass. You can see the... the gaps. The places where he's hard, where he shouldn't be. He can't cover over the darkness that's in with his light, and I don't know if he'd even try."

"It sounds... kind of sad."

"It is. It's very sad. Whatever you think of him, whether you agree or not... you can't escape from the fact that he still loves God. He's tragic, in the truest sense of the word. God so loved the world that He sent his only son to die for humanity's sins... but what did he do for Lucifer? His first fallen child? Nothing that I can see. He cast him down, and he's still smarting from the fall. And worse? He's still doing what God wanted. All this Apocalypse stuff was foretold. You have to consider it was God's plan all along, to have him Fall."

"I think it's a bit above my pay grade," Cecily admitted. 

"I think it's above everyone's, if I'm honest, sweetheart."

"But other than looking pretty, what's he... what's he _like_?"

Crowley couldn't blame her for being interested. Lucifer had that kind of sex-appeal, after all. Maybe it was because he was an angel, underneath it all? Or maybe it was that his story was so painful, that it was difficult _not_ to sympathise, to some degree.

"He created demons as a way to prove himself right to God, I think. He was always convinced that humans were so much lesser than angels were, and that they were innately bad." A little chuckle. "I suppose we prove the point. He made demons to prove that humans were greedy, selfish, murderous, jealous liars. He wanted to show how close they were to sin, how easy it was. Not that it proves humans are worse, because the first selfish thing was still an angel... but it does mean they're just as bad."

"And curious," she argued. "I mean, why put a tree with a big 'no no' sign on it in Eden in the first place?"

"Because you have to have temptation in order to resist it." He shrugged. "I don't know fully. I'm not God. And I fell just the same as all the other demons, so I really am no ethical or moral champion. What I do know, though, is that Lucifer hates demons."

"But he made us!"

"Yep, and he hates us. He hates us maybe even more than he hates humans, because we prove he was right."

"That makes no sense!"

"Didn't say it did, darling. Didn't say it did. But he's Satan. Part of his punishment is to be unhappy. Don't you see it's still His doing, underneath? If Lucifer was truly free, then he'd be happy. He'd be happy, and he'd make Hell this wonderful place with hookers and blow, just to piss God off. He'd make his own Heaven, and there'd be no punishment for anyone."

"But instead he punishes people... because God wants him to?"

Crowley nodded vehemently. "Precisely. He's just God's gaoler, at the end of the day. And he has to know that, too."

"That... that sucks!"

"That's Hell, sugar."

"But _why_ can't he just... you know. Be happy? Or make Hell what he wants to? Doesn't he realise what he's doing?"

"I never asked him, but probably. Lucifer's very, very smart. I suspect he doesn't have a real choice in the matter. If _I_ was God, I'd just make him eternally unhappy, no matter what he did. I'd make it impossible for him to ever be at peace, and make him feel compelled to do the same to everyone else."

It was a depressing thought, and one he'd considered in private for a long time, but never really voiced it. After all, who could you discuss this with? At the end of the day, Lucifer was still Castiel's brother, and he knew Cas was painfully aware that he'd come close to following in the Morningstar's footsteps. It just was not polite to discuss matters like this.

Now the sun was really making an effort, the birds had started to sing. Crowley didn't even remember the last time he had just watched the sunrise. Even when he'd been in the gardens of Perth with his angel, it had always been just after dawn, not in the moments beforehand. It was... oddly quite soothing. The air was pleasantly balmy, and without the noise and smell of cars or humanity, you could almost forget the urban sprawl hidden just beyond the dip in the horizon. 

"That's why you're the King," Cecily said, after a while. "You understand these things. You think big. And you understand... people."

"People aren't that difficult to understand," he said, with a shrug. "They all want the same basic things. You just have to work out which of them need the carrot, and which of them need the stick."

"Which am I?"

"Which do you think you are?"

Her nose wrinkled up as she considered it. "I want to say... carrot."

"Have I ever needed to chide you, or reprimand you, or threaten you?"

She shook her head vehemently. "Nope."

"That's the answer you need. You like to rise to challenges. You like to solve problems. But you're not as confident in reading people, yet. Give it a few decades or so, and you'd be good at it. Say, if I gave you a temporary job in sales, just to develop you further. It might take you a few tries to get to the bottom of it, some trial and error while you hone your technique... but you'd apply your analytical skills and get to the same result that someone who is more gut instinct would."

Cecily mulled that over, trying to envision herself selling promises and buying souls. It didn't sound like her, but she guessed that was the point. It had to be 'not' her, if it was to improve her skills. And Crowley really had risen to the top of his game through his skill and cunning, rather than brute force. She admired his talents more than the likes of Abaddon, and she was sure she would like Lucifer even less. Especially if Lucifer hated the demons he had created, in the first place.

"I guess. When we get to the bottom of this... do you want to make me Queen of the Crossroads?" she asked, even though she felt a bit silly even asking.

"Not straight off. Give you a few contracts first, get you used to how it works. If I put you in at the top, everyone would be jumping on the slightest mistake you made, and they would resent you. Very hard to come straight in over veterans."

"I'll need to have a few pointers from the best Crossroads demons there ever was, before I'd take that job."

Crowley scoffed at her. "Flattery will get you everywhere, my girl."

"With you? It just might." 

Well, she was a better judge of character than she thought, Crowley decided. But it wasn't quite right. It wasn't flattery that worked on him, it was sincere appreciation of his actual talents. But he'd let it slide, for now.

"Come on. I think I heard Sleeping Beauty and the Beast back there. We should get back underway."

Cecily stood up and stretched out, before starting to pack up the chairs Crowley had summoned. 

"You know, you don't have to do this. Castiel, Dean and I have experience in this, but this will be your first front row Apocalypse."

There was a pause as she considered the offer seriously. "Thanks, but I think I do. After what she made me do to Scotty..." She shuddered from head to toe. "That bitch needs to die, and I need to be right there when she does."

A hand on her elbow, and a sober nod. "Then you'll be there. And I'm glad, for my part. I couldn't ask for a better right hand demon."

"Or me a better boss."

But then Dean was up, and he opened up the driver's door to call over. "Hey, Bonny and Clyde, you get your backsides in the car. It's time we got a move on."

Crowley snapped away the chairs. "Showtime."


	12. Chapter 12

Dean parked the Impala as close as he could to the sanatorium, and then all four of them got out. He was studiously avoiding everyone's eyes, and if he looked at the car like he thought it was the last time he'd see it, then... well. No one called him on it.

Which was when his phone went, and everyone jumped a mile. Cas nearly waved the First Blade at it, but he managed to stop just in time.

"Now is really not a good time," Dean barked into the handset.

" _Sorry_ ," came the tinny voice of Charlie. " _I just... I just... wanted to talk to somebody_."

Dean held his hand up to the others, then walked a few paces away. "Dude. What's up. You sound..."

" _Upset? Yeah. I suppose I am. I... well I found out that Kevin was running a site. Got talking to him online_."

"Really? Is he okay?"

" _He was okay, if shaken. Seems him mom got... well. You know. He was headed up to Canada. Not sure if he'll make it, but he wanted me to say hey_."

But there was more. He could tell. "Charlie."

" _Mhm?_ "

"Out with it."

" _Oh, I... okay. Okay. Don't get mad_."

"When people say 'don't get mad' it's normally because they've done shit to get mad over."

" _Well... I could lie?_ "

"Charlie..."

There was a heavy sigh down the line, and Dean knew what she was going to say before she did. " _I took out three of them. Three. But there was just too many arms, and legs, and teeth, and..._ "

Oh, fuck no. "Tell me you didn't."

A little, lost laugh. " _Sorry. I guess playing Time Crisis a million times didn't really pay off. So. Uhm. You gonna tell me you have some kind of miracle up your sleeve? Because it's been a couple of days, now, and I... I really... I mean, I have a gun, still, but..._ "

"Listen to me. We're about to go kill the Devil. Okay? If it can be stopped, we're gonna do it. But... if you don't hear from us?"

" _Yep. Gotcha. If I don't hear, just assume the worst, and 'Nice working with you, Doctor Venkman'?_ "

"It's not gonna come to that. When Lucifer's dead, we'll demon magic you better or something. Cas is dating the King of Hell, so we'll just... bam. And then you'll be fine. And we'll get Kevin, and we'll all have freaking pizza and beer and we'll laugh about the time you nearly became a zombie. Okay?"

He could hear her sniggering, but it was not very heartfelt. " _Okay. Okay. Just... be careful, right? They're horrible, these... whatever they are. Really nasty. Don't take no for an answer_."

Dean didn't have the heart to tell her that the Devil was worse. "Right. So you get ready for a party. Because it's gonna be one _Hell_ of a party."

" _Well. I'll speak to you soon, Dean. Sorry if I called at the wrong time. I just... I couldn't do this on my own_."

"You won't have to. Alright. I gotta go..."

" _This is normally when I'd say 'May the Force be with you' or something, but... yeah. Knock 'em dead, Dean. I'll be praying for you_."

Dean hung up and turned the phone off. The last thing he needed was it going off in the middle of... well. Killing Satan.

***

"Is everything okay?" Cas asked, when Dean got back.

"Yeah. Kevin's on his way to Canada, and Charlie just wanted to wish us all luck." Half true. Mostly true. True enough. 

No one called him on the lie, so that was that. Actually, no one had even met her, so it probably fell a bit flat, to be fair.

"How are we playing this, then?" Crowley asked. "I'm pretty sure he knows we're here, which means this is more than likely a trap. He probably also knows that you've got me, and all my arsenal of tricks. Possibly we should have considered bringing along some more feathered support, but as all the angels are currently wing-clipped, maybe their efficacy would be limited to looking pretty and growling."

Cas delivered an elbow to Crowley's ribs at that. 

"Yeah, it's gonna be a trap, but what alternative do we have?" Dean asked. "Cas needs to get to him. I need to get to him. You two could run interference, give us a chance to get inside."

"I will make one thing perfectly clear, Dean: I will not be leaving Castiel," Crowley said, sombrely. "Not because I think he's incapable, but because I want to be side by side with him. I want to give him the very best chance of succeeding."

Cas smiled, then pecked Crowley on the cheek. "And I want you by my side, too."

"And... uhm... I don't really know much about fighting," Cecily chipped in, a little anxiously. "I'm kind of here for moral support, mostly. I. Uh..."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, so what's the big plan _you_ have, then?"

"Hellhounds," Crowley said. "A whole pack of them. I have the fiercest, most loyal litter. I'll send them in through the front door, do some window rattling and the like, and then we'll all snap over the wall and go in all Andy McNab around the back. Bob's your uncle, Fanny's your aunt, and we'll all be home in time for tea and scones."

Apparently a lot of that went over Dean's head, because he squinted, thought it through, then shook his head. "Fine."

"Cry havoc," the demon said, snapping his fingers. There was a flicker in the air, and the sound of snarling and pacing. 

Cas looked down, but he couldn't see them any more. Instead, all he could see was where the grass pressed down under their paws, or where the hounds' tails wagged against the chain-link fence. 

"Sic 'em," Dean said, shuddering. He did not like Hellhounds, for good reason. 

The King gestured again, and with a howl the invisible dogs went off. They were loud. They were _very_ loud.

"Dude, how many of those do you even **have**?"

"A lot," Crowley confirmed, and then he grabbed Cecily and Dean's wrists. Cas clearly knew to grab hold of Crowley himself, and they were all teleported to the other side of the wall.

Dean had to suppress a shudder when they landed. He had half convinced himself it was only a made up nightmare in the five years since he was here last. But here he was, and every detail was perfect. Even down to the lovingly tended rose garden. Had it been a real future Zach had shown him, then? One where he'd never spoken to Sam again? Ever? He forced himself to walk further in, and he was not at all surprised when he saw them.

There was Abaddon, wearing her 'The Devil made me do it' t-shirt, in the body of a Woman of Letters. And there was Lucifer, wearing a crisp, pristine white suit... in the body of one Sam Winchester. Dean felt his blood run cold.

"How nice of you to join us," Lucifer called out, his voice strangely serene and level. Where Sam was emotional, and Gadreel had been stilted, Lucifer was... Lucifer was like a polished, careful public speaker. There was no real emotion in his tone, it was all detached professionalism. It still made Dean want to bash his face in.

"Get the **Hell** out of my brother, dickwad," Dean growled at him. "I'll give you one chance."

"You will, will you?" Lucifer shook his head in dismay, then turned to the demon by his shoulder. "Would you like to destroy the others in private, so I may speak with Dean alone?"

Abaddon's smile would have curdled milk. "It'd be my pleasure, my Lord."

"Not while I--" Cas started, bringing up the Blade and starting forwards with a run.

Dean didn't hear the end of it, because all of a sudden he was in a long, vacant hall. At the far end there was an empty stage, complete with proscenium arch and faded red curtains. He turned to glance around, but it was just him and... Lucifer. There was no sign of Cas, of Crowley, or of Cecily.

Just... him and Lucifer.

"Sammy," he said, turning to face the Devil. "Sammy, I know you can hear me..."

"He can, you know."

Dean balled his hands into fists, trying very hard not to grind his teeth into nothing. "Sammy. You beat him before. You can do it again. It's me, Sam. It's Dean. C'mon, man. Fight this shit. He's just another small time villain. He's nothing compared to Sam Winchester."

"He can hear you, but that doesn't mean he's listening," Satan said, softly. "He's not going to cast me out, because he invited me in. He made this decision, Dean. He's happier like this."

"Sam, I know he's lying to me. It's what Lucifer does. He **lies**. So whatever trick he and that other angel pulled, you can get past it. You can throw him the Hell out, and we can fix it, somehow. We can get rid of him, and Abaddon, and we can start it all over."

"He came to me. He knew how many people I would kill until he did. He knew I'd burn through vessels, and that there was no way to stop me. Not this time. Because this is my time, you know? My time. He asked me to stop the virus, but there's no stopping it. So he just asked for a way to make you and Castiel safe. And I did. I kept the monsters from your doorsteps... and this is how you repay me."

"I'm not buying it," Dean snapped.

"Well, you should. Sam knew the world was ending, he knew there was no way other than to help speed it up. He couldn't bear to see all the people suffer because of him. He's like that, you know. Very selfless. Very giving. Very..." Head to one side. "...confused, and sad, and alone. But not now. Not with me. He knows where he belongs, now."

"Listen, you sack of shit: you get the fuck out of his head. Cas is gonna--"

"What, Dean? Right now, Abaddon is ripping my brother and the demons to pieces. You know that, don't you? You know you all came here to die. I promised Sam I would protect you, but I never promised I wouldn't defend myself. It's okay. I'll make it painless."

"You think Sam is okay with **that**? No way, no how. No way would he sit back and let you murder his friends."

"You mean like your good friend the Prophet and his mother? Well. She was dead before he came to me, but the Prophet... we've got eyes on him. Follow him wherever he goes. Make sure he's... protected. Until the time is right. Then there's the little red head. She was an unfortunate oversight. Well. I say 'oversight', but what I really mean is Sam couldn't put protection rights on everyone. Same for Garth. Same for a lot of people you know... not that you know many. Sad, really, how few people you have left. You lost Mommy, and Daddy, and Bobby... and now Sam."

"You're just trying to rattle my cage, but it won't work, shit for brains."

"Won't it? Here you are, all alone. Couldn't save your friends. Couldn't even save your brother. And that's what it was all about, isn't it? Your brother. Even more so than your friends, because you'd sell them _all_ down the river if it meant your little baby brother was okay. And they call me 'messed up'! Dean... it's not healthy, you know."

"Shut. Up." His voice was barely a croak, his mouth somehow sandpaper dry. 

"You lose them all, or they leave you. One after the other, dropping like flies. And all for what? All for a brother who picks _me_ over **you**. I suppose it's not so much a case of co-dependency, as it is dependent and carer. All the wrong way around. You thought you were looking out for him, but it turns out **you** needed **him**."

Dean took a half-step back, horrified. Everything Lucifer said was like a nail in his coffin, pushing him deeper and deeper into himself. Was it true? Was he really that... selfish? He'd thought about it. About ending everything - without Sam. Not in the 'pull the trigger' kind of way that Charlie was currently considering, but in the 'go out in a blaze of glory against the Father of Sin' way. But it was just... it was right. It was how it was supposed to be. Sam and Dean. Sam and Dean: saving people, hunting things... the family business. It was what was supposed to happen.

"We're a team."

"Are you? A team of two? Is that why he kept trying to leave, to have a normal life?"

"Yeah, but... you can't. Not when you're a Hunter."

"Can't you? Didn't you try the very thing, when he was in the Cage, with me? I can see it, in his mind. When he came looking for you, and found you settled. Were you happy then, Dean? With a woman and child who you also couldn't protect? Do you even know where they are, now? Do you even know if your son is dead?"

"He's... he's not _mine_."

"Really? He thought of you as one, you know. Daddy Dean. There to take him to baseball practice. There to show him how to be a man. And you did. You showed him the only way you know how: letting him down. Now where's Ben? Is he dead? Did you even think about him? Or was it all Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam..."

" _Shut up and get out_."

"I'm sorry, Dean. Sam made his choice, and he chose me over you. Just like your good friend Castiel chose Crowley over you. You seem to surround yourself with people who prefer damnation. What does that say about you? If you're less than the 'King' of Hell, or its Father?"

What did it say? Cas... Cas he could kind of understand. Crowley wasn't in any way Dean's type, but he was cheery, and he was flirty, and he seemed to be... well. A pretty much devoted partner. And then there was the whole immortal, powerful, magical crap he had going on. Which... okay. Fine. And if that was what made Cas happy, he'd just sort of have to accept that. But Cas had still come to help, even after he'd really fucked him over. Cas could easily have refused to answer the phone, to go off somewhere with his demon posse and maybe try taking down Lucifer without him... but he'd come back.

Sam? Sam, though... this made no sense. He couldn't see what Sam would actually get out of this. Sure, if someone was being actively threatened, or if he somehow could stop the Croatoan virus... but it was still running rampant. So either Lucifer had tricked him, or Gadreel had taken control and somehow subdued Sam into accepting it. He was sure - sure! - that Sam wouldn't just roll over and let him in. It was pretty much Dean's worst nightmare. Everyone he loved hurt, and him helpless to protect them... and Sam? Sam turned into some angel condom. 

"Nope."

"No?"

"Not buying it."

"I am not selling it, Dean. I don't need to."

"Nope. This..." Dean gestured. "It can't be real. I know Sam. I know he wouldn't go for this. So... another Trickster, is it? Or another freaking fake angel vision?"

"No, Dean. This is a nightmare, but it's all too real." Lucifer was frowning now, though. The first hint of unease on his normally calm face. 

"I admit, you almost had me going. Pretty convincing. All the crap with the world going to shit. Making everyone run out on me... but it's not real. Sam wouldn't do this. And you know what? Neither would Cas. Or - come to think - Crowley."

"Really? You think the demon would come to your aid, when you treated him as you did?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. "I think Cas would want him to, so he'd give me a second chance. And I think Cas is pissed at me, but he would give me a second chance, too. Like I'd give him."

Lucifer paced around him, like a hungry wolf. "Really. A second chance?"

"Yeah... I guess I'm late to the party, but... sure. It's the end of the world and the people with me are Cas, his boyfriend, and his boyfriend's secretary. I think that pretty much tells me all I need to know about who I can really trust. So... whatever. I'm not playing your game any more. Now give me back my brother, and stop all this fake bullshit. Right. Now."

Lucifer vanished. He just... vanished. Dean spun around on his heel, trying to work out what the Hell had happened. He yelled out, but his voice just echoed through the building. 

Confused, he walked out into the corridor, and was surprised to be accosted by an orderly.

"Sir... visiting times are not for another hour," the man explained in the calm, even tones of one used to addressing the mentally disturbed. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Right... right. But I need to find my friends. Tall dude, dark hair; short dude, British; chick... short but bouncy. You seen 'em around?"

"I'm afraid not. Please. I'll escort you to the Reception, and you can ask there. Then you can arrange visiting your loved one in the regular hours."

"Wait... I'm guessing there's no end-times plague going on?"

The orderly looked assessingly, as if he suddenly wondered if this was an inmate and not a trespasser.

"Joking," Dean said, hurriedly. "Okay. Take me to the Reception. Thanks."

"Right this way..."


	13. Chapter 13

Castiel was sitting in the lab, waiting for Crowley. He kept running Balthazar's words through his head. He'd accused him of being 'in flagrante' with the demon, but the truth of it was much more complicated than that term implied. It implied it was purely a physical exchange, or that's how it sounded to Cas. It wasn't, though, was it? It was so very much more. It was... a relationship, now. A partnership. It was more than just a deal signed.

If it had just been a deal, then after the first time, there would never have followed a second. A third. None of the times that followed. It would have been a simple transaction, a signing of names, and then that would have been that. But the truth of the matter was that Cas was attracted to the demon. He snarked, and he sniped, and he swaggered and Cas... Cas liked it. He liked the sharp sense of humour. He liked the clever, clever mind. He liked the way the demon looked at him like he really was something special, and he liked... he liked this.

The lab was cold, and there was the ever-pervading scent of disinfectant and blood. No matter how much you tried to scrub it out, too many things had died here for it to ever smell clean again. This was no place for an angel, no place at all. Although he was made to be a soldier, he was made to fight on battle grounds, not... not like this. Not with monsters hunted down and laid bare on medical tables, their secrets teased out with scalpels and knives. It was not really honourable, but he kept telling himself the monsters were evil, and therefore it was fine to do this. 

But then that gave the lie to his 'relationship' with Crowley. If the monsters were monsters and evil, and therefore Castiel didn't need to worry about capturing, torturing or interrogating them... then Crowley was evil, too, and Castiel should definitely not be involved with him. It was one or the other. He couldn't have things both ways.

It was just so... difficult. He couldn't reconcile this situation to his satisfaction. He looked at Crowley and he saw the mess that was his demon-self. He saw the torment that had ripped his soul into shreds, and he felt... pity. He felt sorry that he had gone through this much pain. And then the demon acted - at times - just like a human would. What was the difference between him and a human, when you got down to it? He'd been a human, once. He'd had a soul. He'd sold it. He'd been twisted into this thing, and because of that... Cas was supposed to no longer feel pity, or sympathy? It seemed a very arbitrary distinction, when you came down to it. But who was he to second guess God? There was good, and there was evil. There were choices, and if you made the wrong ones... you were bad.

Like the choice that lay before him, right now. They had almost succeeded. A year of work, and they had the ingredients for the spell to open Purgatory. They had triumphed, and all that remained was to open the door and swallow down the souls. And then... Raphael. 

He had made a deal. Like it or not, they had made a deal. The demon and himself. It was a contract, but not one that had any penalties attached to it. Cas couldn't quite believe he was even considering this, but what would happen if he went through with this? Well, then he would still have enough power to defeat Raphael. He would be able to take control of Heaven, and to save the world from Michael and Lucifer. Crowley would have power, too, and he would be able to keep Hell secure and that would probably be better than the alternative. He and Crowley would... continue? Their relationship? Heaven's strongest warrior and the King of Hell? How would that even work, he wondered. Sam, Dean and Bobby would be disappointed in him, but it was - it was a necessary evil. Sometimes you had to make these kind of deals for the greater good. Dean himself had sold his soul to Hell, which was why Castiel had been tasked with retrieving him from Hell. They would understand, in time.

Then there was the other option. What would happen if he didn't uphold their deal? There hadn't been any collateral, there would be no soul forfeit because he didn't have one to begin with. In fact, although it had been sealed, there was no infernal magic that could bind an angel into compliance. Crowley had insisted they consummate, but it had been a 'paper exercise'. If he took all the souls for himself, he would be more powerful. He would very definitely defeat Raphael and anyone who tried to challenge him. He would control Heaven, and he would ensure that Heaven was stronger than Hell. He could still keep Crowley in control of Hell, because it was likely better than any alternative. It would be the more... angelic choice? To keep the power in Heaven's grasp, not Hell's? Even if he had to do it through deceit and disloyalty. There was sin whichever way he turned. He had made the decision to muddy the waters when he'd agreed to work with him, and now it was merely a matter of damage limitation. Of working out which was, on the whole, the best course of action.

Crowley would not be happy, of course. It would likely mean the end of their relationship. He knew that quite aside from the personal betrayal, the demon held integrity and oath-keeping in the highest regard. Crowley would likely never forgive him for it, and their relationship would come to an abrupt end. Cas didn't want that, but was his own personal preference really important enough to risk the fate of the world? He was supposed to be a servant of good, of God. 

It was not that he wanted the power for himself. No. It was simply... it was the right thing to do. Balthazar had said as much. And then Sam and Dean and Bobby would understand that it had only been a 'marriage of convenience'. It would be painful, and it would be a shame to end what was actually a - good relationship? Could he call it that? He thought he could. It made him happy, and it was nice to have someone you could talk to, and someone who understood that he wasn't human, even if he looked like one when he walked the Earth. He was an angel. He was immortal. Humans were not. Demons... were. Which was probably another reason to end this before it went on too long. Two immortal beings had the potential to stay together literally forever, and Cas wasn't sure he was prepared for that. He'd sort of fallen into this relationship thing by mistake, it had never been a conscious, sensible choice. 

So when he heard the familiar clipping of Crowley's shoes drawing closer, he reluctantly decided that there was only one real answer to this.

"Your Purgatory power-shake, Monsieur," Crowley said, offering the jar of mixed blood to him. The one that he needed to complete the ritual. "Half monster, half virgin."

Castiel took it, trying not to let his distaste show. He said a curt: "Thank you."

Crowley, though, could sense something was wrong. Of course he could. Half the time it seemed he knew him better than he knew himself, and the other half of the time he seemed to not understand him at all. Or, perhaps, he chose not to. "You seem even more constipated than usual. Maybe get you some Colonblow?"

Of course he would deflect with humour. It was how he avoided anything painful. Cas decided if this was happening, then it should just happen. It shouldn't be a painful, drawn out affair. Surgical and fast was the best way. No more lying. No more deceiving. "I'm renegotiating our terms," he said, as levelly as he could manage.

The demon didn't immediately seem to grasp this was over. Or he did, but he was in denial. Castiel could sympathise.

"Is that so?" he asked. "What terms do you propose?"

It was almost as if someone else was talking. Castiel felt nothing but an all-pervading numbness as his tongue carried on. It was almost as if he was reading from a script, because the words just tumbled out as if beyond his control. "You get nothing. Not one single soul."

Even as Cas said this, he knew - somehow - that it was wrong. So very, very wrong. But he also knew it was right, and the two warring ideas in his head collided in a screaming, incoherent mess. Stop me, he thought. Please, Crowley, stop me. But he also thought: _this is how it must be_.

Now, though, the demon had got the picture. He knew what this was about. "Can't help notice, seems a bit unfairly weighted." 

There was an interminable silence as Crowley waited for the punchline, or the smile, or something. Castiel just offered him the most stoic of expressions.

"Castiel. You wouldn't dare. I brought you this deal." Now he sounded scandalised. Scandalised and hurt. Of course, who would think that an angel would double-cross? That one would lie, or cheat, or steal? (Who would think one would work with a demon to begin with?)

"You think I'm handing all that power to the King of Hell? I'm neither stupid nor wicked." But he was both. He was both, because if he was smart and good, he would never be in this position to begin with. He would have approached Dean and worked out a way to fix this that didn't involve Hell. He would have walked away when Crowley tried his smooth, salesman's patter on him. He was the most stupid, and one of the most wicked angels ever to have existed. He didn't think he was worse than Lucifer, although he suspected he came close.

Now came the anger. What was it? First denial (yes), then anger, then bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. Castiel hoped for both their sakes that the demon worked through them quickly.

"Unbelievable." His eyes were flashing with ire, and Castiel was impassive before them. "Have you forgotten that you're the bottom in this relationship?"

Was that a joke? Wasn't their relationship more than that? They had done things - all sorts of things - from every which way. Castiel didn't fully understand all the jokes, or the names for what they did, but he was fairly sure that it was - if not equal - at least weighted in his favour. He'd been the one to initiate the further steps in their more intimate moments, and... well. He was just lashing out. That was it. He was hurt, so he was being cruel. Castiel did not blame him.

"Here are your options. You either flee, or you die."

Why did he say that? Why? He wanted neither. He did not want the demon to leave, and he most certainly did not want him dead. None of this made any sense whatsoever. Stay, he wanted to say. Stay, and... we will work this out. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I don't want you to go: you are the only creature who understands me, who seems to care, who seems to think I am worth something. Please: don't let this happen.

"We made a pact. Even I don't break contracts like this." Crowley, hurt, was returning to the letter of their compact, their deal. Because of course it was easier to focus on that, than the whispered, terrified confessions of love they'd made. 

"Flee, or die."

What kind of a monster said that?

"Boy," the demon scoffed, his voice much calmer, like he was keeping the emotion buried far, far below. "...just can't trust anyone these days."

And Crowley fled.

And Castiel... was left alone.


	14. Chapter 14

The Impala was parked where he'd left her, of course. She was a good girl. There was no sign of Cas, Crowley or Cecily. He'd asked the staff at the sanatorium, but they'd denied all knowledge of them. Same went for his description of Sam-Lucifer, and Abaddon. When he got back to the car, he pulled out his phone and turned it on without really looking at it. There were no texts or voicemails, so... it looked like they were either dead, or worse. Dean wasn't too sure what the 'worse' could be. 

Sitting behind the wheel, he scrolled through the names stored. Weirdly, under 'C' there was only Cas, there wasn't a Cecily or a Crowley listed. And he was sure he'd deleted all of Bobby's numbers, too. 

He tried calling Cas, but it just went to voicemail. He tried looking for Kevin, but he wasn't in the phone either. This was just getting a little bit too Freaky Friday. So he called Sam.

He called Sam, but it wasn't Sam who answered.

" _Where the Hell are you, idjit?_ "

Dean fumbled with the phone, nearly dropping it in shock. When he managed to get it back up to his ear, he spoke urgently into the receiver. "Bobby?"

" _Yeah, who'd ya think it would be? Megan Fox?_ "

"Wait... Bobby... what year is this?"

" _Kind of question is that, son? It's 2011. You got dropped on your head or something? Or those angels been zapping you back and forth again?_ "

2011? And Bobby was alive? Which meant... "Why isn't Sam answering the phone, Bobby?"

" _Dean, I'm not sure it's even you talking to me, now._ "

"It's me, Bobby, I swear. Is... is Sam... did Cas do something to him?"

" _If you hadn't amscrayed when you did, you'd know what was going on. If it really is you, get your ass back here. We need you, alright?_ "

"I'm... I'm in Detroit, Bobby. I'm gonna drive back as fast as I can. This... this is really freaking bad."

" _Yeah, you don't need to tell **me** that. Alright. But I'll be doing all the tests on you when you get here_."

"Yeah. I know. Listen... it's... it's good to talk to you, alright?" Dean was fighting the sudden tightness in his chest. It had been too long since he'd heard Bobby's dulcet, grating tones. He'd missed the old man more than he should have. 

" _Just hurry, okay? The lunar eclipse is tonight. I need you here_."

He was never going to make it in time, but he had to try.

***

It was a lot later. Well. Castiel thought it was a lot later, because he could sort of remember sitting for a long time, thinking things through. But it also felt like no time at all had passed as well. He was still in Crowley's lab, but Crowley was long since gone, and Castiel was alone inside. Outside, the most loyal of his troops that were still alive guarded this place against demons or Winchesters. He did not trust the brothers. Not yet. He would do this bit on his own, and then he would show them how his plan had worked. How it had been for the best. All of this. _All of this_.

So here he was, with the jar. It was cold. The creatures they had... no. One of them was a creature, one of them must have been a person. Cas didn't want to think about that. Whatever it was that had bled out, it had bled out a long time ago. Now it was cool to the touch, and you could barely tell that this had once kept two things alive. Here he was, sitting alone. It was almost time for the moon to rise and then hide, but not quite yet. 

Of course Balthazar came when he asked him to. They were old friends, after all. They had known one another for millennia, and Cas knew that he was probably as close to a 'friend' as he had in Heaven. The other angels all followed him out of respect for his power, out of surprise that he had faced off against Lucifer and somehow still walked, still flew. It was not closeness, it was not any bond of kinship, it was the loyalty of the soldier to the highest banner.

"You rang, Cas?"

"Yeah. We have a problem. Dean Winchester is on his way here."

It was a problem. It was a very **big** problem. Dean didn't yet understand things, and that was a failing Castiel did not have time to remedy just yet. This was a very time-bound operation, after all. There were external factors at work, which he could not ignore. He would make Dean and Sam and Bobby - all of them - understand once he'd got the souls.

"Really? Oh. How'd he even know where we were?" Balthazar asked, the picture of cherubic innocence. He could lie so very smoothly. 'We' he said, like he wasn't secretly plotting Castiel's downfall, with humans he'd called 'monkeys' not so long ago.

The seraph put down the jar with a solid thunk. "Apparently we have a Judas in our midst."

Judas was the right term, but Cas wondered what the term for him would be? Judas betrayed Christ, right at the end. Sold him out to the Romans for thirty pieces of silver. He wondered what Balthazar had demanded as his fee? And Cas... what was Cas? Was there even an analogue for him? For the betrayer who broke a deal, who just took everything for himself? His memory failed him right now

"Ah," the other angel laughed, and there was tension in his voice, in the lines around his vessel's eyes. He knew. He knew that Castiel knew. It was all social pleasantry, now, even though this was not pleasant in the slightest. "Holy Hell. Who is it? I bet it's that bloody little cherub, isn't it?"

Castiel pushed to his feet at long last. It felt, in standing, like it all became real. Like this horrible nightmare could be believed if he only ever stayed still, but in motion he accepted this was reality. This was his world, now: he had made his bed, and he must lie in it, even if he laid awake all night alone. "I don't know. But I - I need you to find out."

It was strange how easy the lies came. As easy as they came to Balthazar, they came to Castiel. He'd felt worse lying to the brothers, which was why he had kept his distance for as long as possible. He didn't like the way his face felt when he said patent untruths, but it got easier every time. Maybe one day he would be able to dissemble as well as a demon could.

"Of course. Umm, right away. Right away. Uh, but what do you want me to do about Dean?"

Cas turned his back on Balthazar when he asked "Nothing. I'll handle him myself."

"Castiel? Are you alright?"

No, he was not. He was about as far from 'alright' as it was possible to be. He decided to be honest, now. He decided it was time for that to start. "First Sam and Dean, and now this. I'm doing my best in impossible circumstances. My friends, they abandon me, plot against me. It's difficult to understand."

Balthazar was in cahoots with them. Why didn't they trust him? Why did none of them trust him to do what was really right, and needed? Why didn't they just believe in him? Why was the only creature who had put his faith in Castiel been a demon? A demon who he had, then, betrayed? It was a farce, all of this. A complete and utter farce. It was the things those ridiculous movies Crowley liked to watch were made out of: crossed communications, overblown parallels and symbolism, convoluted plots and twists.

"Well you've - you've always got little old me," Balthazar offered, disarming and ingratiating.

Castiel flew fast. One moment he was in front of him, the next behind. Balthazar never seemed to expect it, so when he slid his angel blade into his vessel, he groaned in pain and surprise. It was an awful sound, and Cas wished he'd just died outright. He hated to see the light flare in an angel's eyes. Hated it. And yet he'd been the cause of more angel deaths than anyone since Lucifer himself, now.

"Yes," he said, his tongue running over the words again, though they did not feel like him, and they did not feel like his own. "I'll always have you."

Balthazar said one last thing, Cas' name. It died on his lips as his Grace flared one last time, filling the laboratory with cold, white light. Balthazar's outstretched wings left scorched marks on the floor below, and Castiel stared at them for a long, long time.

That would be Raphael, soon. Raphael would be the last one to die. No more. No more killings. 

He still didn't even really know why he'd done that, either.

***

As he drove along, the line Bobby had said, that this was back in 2011 - three years ago - seemed to look truer and truer. It wasn't so much that it was really that easy to tell when such a short space of time had passed, it was more the lack of ruin and decay he'd come to consider normal. The shops he passed were open, and people were walking in and out of them as if it was a perfectly ordinary day. There was no broken glass, no boarded up entrances, no messages of impending doom scrawled in three-foot high letters on the fences he passed. 

After so long living in the utter ruins of society, to be surrounded by calm urban sprawl was just surreal. He even flicked the radio on, but it just played normal tunes interspersed with brief news and weather reports, and nothing said this was anything but expected.

What the Hell was going on? Had he been sent back in time? Would Lucifer do something like that, just to dick with him? Why wouldn't he just kill him outright? Why give Dean a second chance at changing things? Or was it like that time Sam had said they got Groundhog Dayed? This was one Hell of a jump back, though, and if he had to relive the same three years over and over he knew he'd go insane.

Bobby had said it was the eclipse tonight, which meant that it was when Cas opened up the doorway to Purgatory. Which meant it was also when he let the Leviathans out of the bag and went crazy and all that crap. So he had to get back and... stop it? Or... did he? What would happen if he did? Would Raphael end the world, after all?

He knew how to kill Dick now. They could always just catch the Leviathans as soon as they arrived. They could take Dick down before he had a chance to wind his filthy black fingers into the world. With hindsight, a Hell of a lot would be possible. Maybe he could talk Cas into giving it up straight off, if he explained things. They knew Dick could be handled, but they didn't have any way to take down an archangel... as Lucifer had just shown him in all-too gory detail. 

And then there was Bobby. Bobby... was still alive. If there was no Dick, then there would still be Bobby. And Dean wanted that so very, very badly.

You weren't supposed to change the past, were you? But when did the line get drawn? When he'd come back from 2014 the first time, he'd changed his future, which was future-him's past. So now what was this? If it was real, did he have to see it all go down the same way again? No one would blame him, surely. Not for making things _better_. He put his foot down and pushed the car as fast as she'd go.

It would all be immaterial if he didn't get back in time.


	15. Chapter 15

Crowley should have known better. He really should have. He'd been foolish and he'd let someone get the better of him. It rarely happened - at least, these days. Since he'd worked his way up to King of the Crossroads and beyond, he'd pretty much prided himself on that. You didn't trust anyone but yourself, and you even second-guessed yourself at times, too. You kept friends _and_ enemies close, but so close that they couldn't swing their hand back to gather enough momentum to smack you. You stayed one step - or ten, or twenty - ahead of the game. 

You didn't go and _trust_ someone. You didn't give them enough rope to hang you with. You didn't allow them to blindside you, to sneak up on you in the night and run the blade up and into your spinal column. A slow, painful, crippling death, complete with bloody mess, twitching paroxysms and screaming blue murder. No.

Actually, it might have felt better if Castiel _had_ stabbed him in the back, literally. Instead, what he was left with was worse. What he was left with was this terrible, clutching agony in his chest. Did he still have a heart? Well. Heartache was never really _literal_ in the same way as being sick to your stomach, but it sure as Hell felt like he had a heart now. It was this horrible, gaping emptiness in his core. It wasn't just that the slow, kindling happiness Cas had brought (with, he had to admit, the occasional firecracker explosions, too) had gone, it was as if when the angel betrayed him, he pulled out more. He pulled out vital things that kept Crowley going, and for some reason he kept thinking of bees, which made next to no sense whatsoever. Why would he think about that, at a time like this?

He had been stupid, so stupid. He'd thought that Castiel - an angel of the Lord - could actually love him back. He was sure what he felt for Cas was love, because nothing else would hurt like this. Demons might not have souls, but they still had feelings. He was capable of liking things, preferring things... wanting things. And right now, what he really wanted was for Cas to come back through the door and beg his forgiveness. Crowley would... say yes? He thought he would. He wanted to say that he would, but he also knew he was proud. He was proud, and Cas had hurt him badly. Would he be able to get past that? Possibly.

Instead, here he was in Hell, alone. In Hell, trying to work out what he did next. A very large part of him wanted to just... wallow. To sit with this very nice bottle of Craig which he hadn't yet opened and drink until the pain went away. He was dumb enough to think it might even work. Every time he tried to think about it, the enormity of the situation just... stood over him like some towering office block, blotting out the sun. The whole bloody mess was so big that he didn't even know where to begin, and when he tried to work out anything his mind just screeched into oblivion and left him a babbling mess.

Snap out of it, he told himself. Get a grip, man. It's only a brief fling. That's all it is. You screwed around and you lost the game. You let your dick get the better of you and now you're paying the price. You're smarter than he is, smarter by far. You got this far alone, and you'll get further, too. Other people just hold you back. They are tools, not... partners.

But... Cas. 

Cas was... special. He felt drawn to him in a way he didn't remember ever happening before. Cas was... beautiful. He was. He was this sharp, dangerous thing, like a gemstone in the rough. All sharp edges and inner light. It wasn't just that he was an angel, because Crowley had known a good many angels in his time. Like, say, Naomi. There was one who had all but thrown herself at him, and he was sure she was still bitter that he'd not taken her up on her very generous offer of hate-sex. No, it was because he was _Cas_ , and Crowley still couldn't bring himself to regret any of this, because the horrible, clutching agony in his meatsuit was the kind of good-pain that you knew you'd go back for, again and again. He loved him. That was the long and the short of it: he loved him.

But Cas didn't love him back, not really. Not enough for it to work. He'd done the usual thing, the expected thing, and changed his mind at the last minute.

And if Crowley let him get away with it... well. If he let him get away with it, then Cas would become the new superpower _du jour_. And then what? Would he let Crowley stay in Hell? Would Crowley even want to? 

He didn't think so, which is why he was here with yet _another_ angel. Raphael. It was probably a bit too soon to be rebounding, but Crowley was no fool. There was only really one being Castiel was afraid of, one who was strong enough to stand up to him and survive, and that was big brother. Yes, there was the whole end-game disparity where Raphael wanted to finish creation, but those finer details could be worked on at a later point, of course. Time being a cruel taskmaster that she was.

Speaking of women, he'd laid odds on which angels would be willing to switch back and forth (being, as they were, creatures of agenderless origin, but somehow usually having a preference one way or another, if they found a suit that fit) but he'd never pegged Raphael as a cross-dresser. Yet here he - she - was. 

"Well. I have to say, I like the new suit," he said.

"Why did you ask me here, demon?"

"Yes, yes... straight to the point. I admire that in you, you know. You see something..." he had his hand up, palm vertical to the floor, weaving it like a fish through seaweed. "...you **get** it. You think something? You say it."

"Unlike you."

A deferential little half-bow. "Unlike me. But I have come to make you an offer."

Raphael's expression turned even stonier, if it was possible. Crowley wouldn't have thought it, five minutes ago. Oh well. 

"Okay. Tough crowd, I get it. Look: we both know that Castiel is a thorn in our collective sides. The enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

"You are saying that your partnership with Castiel has come to an end?"

"Got it in one! My, you are a smart one. No wonder you're the last archangel left standing." Flattery rarely hurt, even though of the four, Raphael had the dubious honour of being the one everyone forgot about, until the very last minute. He - she - whatever - wasn't strong like Michael, or brilliantly terrible like Lucifer, or disarmingly bubbly and grating like Gabriel. Raphael was simply... the other one. And that was about as much as you could say for him. Her.

"So why should I work with you?"

"Now... see... Castiel and I? Back when we were working together, we had a little arrangement of sorts. You see, Purgatory is Hell-adjacent, and it's this _huge_ untapped mine of potential. Souls, as it were. Hundreds of thousands of them. Millions, even. We were going to tap that keg and pass the spile back and forth, split the winnings."

"And now he plans to take them all for himself."

Crowley snapped his fingers at her. "Gotcha!" You had to keep encouraging the slow ones, or they got disheartened. 

"And now you wish to deal with me, instead?"

"Well, we'll both be going up against him, before long. And if he has all of those souls then you and I both know that no matter what we do, we're buggered three ways to Sunday and I've had quite enough sodomy to last me ten lifetimes. But if we were to nip it in the bud, as it were... split things between us, keep the balance of Heaven and Hell right, but make sure that Heaven acknowledges the _real_ leader, the one God made stronger for a reason? Well. What's not to love about this plan?"

He could actually see the cogs whirring in her head, it was so painful to watch it was untrue. Although perhaps his sudden bitterness to her was actually displaced anger, he wasn't prepared to engage with that possibility just yet.

"You know where he is?"

"Indeed I do. I know where he is, I know the words to the spell, I know the ingredients to the spell, and I know he has them. We can just... pop right over..." and he did a tiny jump to the side, to demonstrate, "...snatch them up..." and he mimed pulling them from the seraph's hands, and had to stomp down on the sudden, vivid flash of betrayal that would play over Castiel's stupid, beautiful face, "...and then we do it for real, go Dutch, and then our separate ways."

"I see."

"Only, this is a one-time offer, you know. Expires soon, because the ritual has to be completed tonight. So I kind of need to know... are you in, or are you out?"

And that was the key question, really. He had no doubt that this was simply trading the frying pan for the fire, or one harsh taskmaster for another... Raphael would try to sell him down the river just as surely as Castiel had. But this way he had the chance for a little cold revenge, first. A little jab to the kidneys, and maybe he could sic the two angels off against one another and somehow emerge unscathed and victorious.

Yeah. And Winchesters could fly.

"Then we have a deal," the archangel said. 

Funny. Must be the first archangel to ever make a deal with the Devil. Crowley really was setting history, wherever he went.

***

" _Where the Hell are you?_ " came Bobby's tinny voice through the phone.

"Driving," was Dean's gruff response. "Look. I don't think I'm gonna be back in time."

" _No shit, Sherlock. What happened, Dean?_ "

"I'm not sure, okay? I was in 2014, and Lucifer was running around, and then: bam. Back here. And I remember this from my time around, so you gotta listen carefully."

" _How do I know it's really you, Dean?_ "

"Same way I know if it's you. You remember that manicure you got?"

There was a gruff snort down the phone. " _It was a pedicure, and yeah. I remember. Okay, if it ain't you it's something near as damnit. What do I need to know? Sam's pretty much out for the count. Cas really did a number on him when he broke down that wall_."

"I know. He's gonna wake up and start seeing Lucifer, so we've got that to look forward to. But before that, Cas and Crowley are gonna open up Purgatory between 'em. Raphael is gonna try to stop 'em, but Cas will gank him."

" _Right. And you want me to stop him, somehow? How did you do it last time?_ "

Dean winced. "See. That's the thing. Last time, we didn't. We tried, but he went and opened it anyway. And that's a bad thing, but... there's Raphael. So maybe we should let him do it, but then when he's done it, you need to talk him down."

" _I'm not liking the sound of this, Dean_."

"I know. I know. Look: I don't like it either, but Raphael's got a hard on for the Apocalypse like big bro. And Cas can take him down, but then there's gonna be all sorts of nasties come out."

" _You sure we should be changing the timeline, Dean? Ain't that frowned upon?_ "

"It's already different, because my time around I was there with you, and now I'm not, and that wasn't my decision, Bobby. That's if this is even real at all, and it ain't some Trickster nightmare, or some angel vision or something."

" _Okay. I guess. So... what do I need to do?_ "

"When he's iced Raphael, you need... you need to reason with him. He's gonna think... he's gonna think he's God, Bobby."

" _ **Jesus**_."

"Nope. Just his dad. He's gonna be pretty much power mad, but, see, the souls are bad, Bobby. They're monsters. And some of them - some of them are so bad they even get angels running scared. Leviathan. They only get hurt by borax, but decapitation works for a while. And the only way to kill 'em for good was to take out the boss with some nasty, complicated shit. You wanna see if he'll put them back in the box. Reason with him. Tell him... tell him if he doesn't, then he's gonna regret what happens next."

" _What does happen next?_ "

"More than we got time for now, but... yeah. It wasn't pretty, I'll tell you. Old school vengeance, plus some... uh... faith healing. It was all pretty fucked, but then the Chompers in him took over, and then he just plain vanished."

" _Right. Well, I'll do what I can, but I ain't promising anything. He barely acknowledges my existence, Dean_."

"Believe me, I sometimes wish he barely acknowledged me." Dean sighed. "Okay. Well. Do what you can. When I get there, I'mma try, too."

" _And Sammy?_ "

"Tie him up. It's for his own good."

" _If you insist_."

"And Bobby? Make... make sure you look after yourself, okay? I mean it. No heroics."

That got him a gruff laugh. " _Preaching to the choir, boy. Now drive fast, and drive safe_."

"Roger that."

Dean couldn't lose Bobby twice. No way, no how.


	16. Chapter 16

Crowley didn't really need to arrive as dramatically as all that, but he was still pissed and presentation was half of everything. He sent his forward guard in against Castiel's angel protection detail, and they assaulted them in a furious tumult of black, demon smoke. It was all very theatrical: tossing cars, battering the building, blowing lights and so on. It made him feel better to know it must be pissing Cas off to lose more of his stupid angels, but it wouldn't really be revenge enough until Crowley somehow worked out how to get _all_ the souls. That would sure be something. 

When he entered, Castiel was just standing. The paper with the spell was right there, which meant he was still preparing. The moon was still fat and bright outside, so there was plenty of time. 

It was hard not to be smug. It was hard, because he really wanted to wipe that blank, holier-than-thou not-smile off Castiel's perfectly beautiful face. He really fucking wanted this turning of tables to hurt him where it mattered, because apparently 'souls' were more important to Castiel than, say, his ~~heart~~ _word_. 

Not sure how he did it, he smiled and smiled an empty, heartless smile and crooned at him. "Never underestimate the King of Hell, darling. I know a lot of swell tricks." Yes, he did. Like creating feelings _ex nihilo_ , or pretending he was just fine and dandy, thank you for asking. "Now, I think it's time to re-renegotiate our terms."

Yes. It was. It was about time Castiel realised that sharing was a virtue, and stealing was a sin. How fitting that an angel would need schooling by a demon. How utterly ironic. It was far too precious for words.

The angel vanished, and Crowley was not surprised. He was always fucking doing that, though he'd grown a little out of the habit recently. Crowley had really thought he'd trained the trait out of him, but apparently not. He span on his heel, and sure enough... there was the seraph. He looked up in shock as Castiel put his hand to his forehead, but he pushed that surprise down as fast as he could.

"Sweaty hands, mate." They weren't. It was a lie. It was a lie, because Crowley really couldn't believe the little shit would stoop that low. Really? He was going to try and burn the smoke out of him? No honour amongst thieves whatsoever. Crowley hadn't even planned to come here to kill Cas, just to... take what was rightfully his, and to humiliate the selfish bastard. But Cas? Cas was ready to murder him. That was just peachy.

"I don't understand," the angel said. Of course he didn't. He should probably get a bloody t-shirt printed with it on, because it seemed to be his default status. 

Cry me a river, the demon thought. It's not 'sorry I tried to murder you', it's 'why didn't you die?' which was just... ugh. He should throttle the bird. He should snap his neck. But instead? He kept up the act. Tried to pretend like this was nothing. If they saw you hurt, then they won. "You can palm me all you want. I'm safe and sound under the wing of my new partner."

Which was when he waved off to the right where - right on cue - Raphael appeared. Good. Might be slow on the uptake, but did at least appreciate the necessity of a memorable intro. 

"Hello, Castiel," said the archangel, like it was just some normal family reunion. Maybe it was. Crowley was suddenly glad he wasn't an angel, because it was entirely possible. 

"Raphael."

"This is all very touching," Crowley said. "I should have brought a camera and recorded this moment for posterity."

Castiel ignored him, turning to Raphael instead. "Consorting with demons. I thought that was beneath you."

"Heard you were doing it. Sounded like fun."

Oh, burn. He was _right there_ , but then that was the point, wasn't it? Little bitch. Well, Crowley could play that game, too. "You know, Castiel you've said all sorts of shameful, appalling, scatological things about Raphael. I've found him - her - to be really quite reasonable." He smiled as broadly as he could, but it was the smile that said 'go deep throat a knife and then take a fully loaded Kalashnikov up the jacksie'.

"You fool. Raphael will deceive and destroy you at the speed of thought," the seraph told him. As if it was out of concern, when the little slimy snake had only minutes ago tried to burn the ever-living smoke out of him.

"Right, right, 'cause you're such a straight shooter. She - he -" ...what was the protocol in this situation for pronouns? It was tricksy. "...has offered me protection against all comers."

"In exchange for what?"

"The Purgatory blood," the demon explained. It was pretty bloody obvious, but if Cas wanted to play dumb, he'd let him.

Beside him, the archangel clicked her tongue disapprovingly at the little bird. "Castiel, you really think I would let you open that door? Take in that much power? If anyone is going to be the new God, it's me."

"He's gonna bring the Apocalypse, and worse."

Crowley tried to ignore how much sense that made... because of course it did. He'd approached Castiel because he knew what Raphael had planned, and it wasn't something he wanted to happen. Lucifer wasn't going to be happy to see him if he did get sprung, and... well. He rather liked the world. It would be a shame to lose it, to have nothing but Hell forever. It would get ever so dull.

"Hey, this is your doing, mate," he said defensively. Mate. He meant it in the pally way, not in the 'mated for life' way, because clearly angels were not like swans. And he sure as Hell wasn't going to call him the _other_ names. Not now. "I'm merely grabbing the best offer on the table. Now, you have two options." He meant to do an impersonation, but it came out much more bitter and mocking than he'd aimed for: "Flee, or die."

Crowley would rather neither, at the end of the day, but there was no invisible third option now. He'd run to Raphael, and Raphael could destroy Castiel. Even if the stupid bastard decided to come to his senses and beg for forgiveness, it was sort of a done deal, now. It was a bit like he'd gone running to Daddy - Mummy - whatever. It was just a natural escalation of things. And even if he'd wanted Castiel to beg and scrape and apologise and say he'd learned his lesson and he'd never do it again... there was no real hope for that.

Plus. He'd tried to kill him. That always made things pretty tense. It certainly wasn't conducive to a trusting, loving relationship, was it? No, it really wasn't. Rough and tumble in the sack was one thing, but attempted murder was that step too far away from consensual almost-violence and jumping with both feet right into 'abusive, toxic relationship' territory.

Castiel picked up the jar and tossed it at him, and Crowley plucked it easily from the air. Good. He'd picked flee. He might be angry, but he wasn't sure he was angry enough to want the dumb fuck dead. And plus, if he was dead... well. He'd not be able to suffer any more. And Crowley wanted him to _burn_. When he looked up, Castiel had - hah - vanished. Of course he had. 

He turned to his archangel body guard and gestured with the glass and blood. "Like taking candy from a baby," he said, grinning widely.

"Start the ritual," Raphael said in response. She didn't look amused, but she rarely did. 

Crowley wondered if the ritual of their Heaven-Hell tryst had reached that high up the food chain or not. Quite possibly not, or not confirmed, anyway, because if Raphael had known for sure the level of their involvement, she would have said something, probably. Who wouldn't rub his face in it? 

The Winchesters would, he thought. But then he shoved them forcefully from his mind. 

No. Now was his victory, now was not the time to dwell on all the things that were wrong. He had all of eternity for that.

***

Castiel left the demon with Raphael. He was angry. He was very, very angry. After all this time, when Crowley had to _know_ that Raphael wanted to **end everything**... this had been his idea! It wasn't just about Hell, not really. It was about everything. Heaven, Hell and Earth, too. That's why Cas had said yes. It was supposed to fix things.

Okay, so he'd cut Crowley out of the deal. He could understand the demon would feel upset about that, he really could. But this was sabotaging everything. Was Crowley really so petty that - if he couldn't have ~~Castiel~~ the souls, he would throw the whole of existence in the balance? Cas had hoped maybe he was better than that, or at least sensible and selfish enough that he wanted the world to continue as it was. And that's all Cas wanted: the world to keep going; the fighting to stop; angels to be free to do what was right, not what they were told. 

And now the stupid demon would side with Raphael, out of petty disgruntlement. Not that it would do either of them any good, of course. Castiel had made plans for this, though he had hoped it would never come to it. He'd thrown a jar over, but it wasn't the jar Crowley wanted. He was betting that the King's arrogance in his own cleverness would keep the deception going long enough. There were only minutes left to complete the ritual.

He daubed the blood mixture onto the wall, drawing the sigil. He could practically feel the magic crackling back like static as he did it, and the thick liquid dribbled down from his stark lines. 

This wasn't wrong. It wasn't. He was going to take the souls for himself, because an angel was worthy. An angel was a being of light, and good, and heavenly purpose. He was God's soldier. Crowley had been right about one thing: he had been resurrected for a reason, and this was it. It was his duty and his destiny to open this gate and to be the saviour. He'd used the demon like any other tool, and that was... that was okay. The important thing was really that he got out before it was too late. 

Cas intoned the Latin words that would open the gateway, his tongue sliding over them numbly. They sounded hollow in this empty room, and it was a victory, but it was a cold one. There was no one there to congratulate him on a job well done. There was no one there to see how clever he was, how good, how brave and smart. But he wasn't doing it for _that_ for **prestige**... he was doing it because it needed doing. The world needed someone like him, someone who was prepared to do what was... was... needed...

He told himself these things over and over, but they didn't ring true in his heart. He felt dead inside, and he wanted nothing more than to go to the demon, to somehow apologise and do this all over. He wanted to say he was sorry, that he was wrong... and then he wanted to find Sam and Dean and explain to them, and get them to understand, and fix... fix it all. 

But later. He would have to fix it later, because now the spell was finishing, and the sigil was glowing with terrible, sharp, white light. It hurt the eyes to look at, and Cas could feel the power just below brick and mortar. He walked closer, opening his mouth to allow the swirling mass inside. It pushed in, as if drawn to the Grace inside of his vessel, or simply homing in on the nearest source of life, and as they surged into him they seemed to pour into every last part of his vessel. Souls did not take up space, but even so he felt... full. Like he was bigger, somehow, or like he was closer to the world. Everything was bolder, brighter, louder. He felt... strong. Really strong. Powerful and glorious, like he imagined an archangel must feel. 

No.

He was more than that, now.

This? Was how God felt.


	17. Chapter 17

In the lab, Crowley was busy reading out the same lines, almost at the same time that Castiel was. Beside him, the archangel stood watch. It was better like that, because the ritual was important and one wrong word could ruin everything, so it made sense to have the big guns work as the guard dog, and let the brains do the actual work.

" _...quarum ungulae et dentes,_  
 _Nunquam tetigerunt carnem humanam..._ "

Of all the people he thought might show up, he had to admit that Bobby Singer on his own had never made the list. Just Bobby? Well, it wasn't as if he wasn't formidable in his own rights, but normally they came in threes, or just the two brothers. Crowley wondered if perhaps Sam and Dean had decided to go after Castiel instead, but... how would they even know where to find him? And did they even know about this little... lover's tiff?

Ah. Of course they did. Probably planned it all along. Most likely right now the two little pups where chasing their tails and weaving between Castiel's legs. They had kissed and made up, and that's why Crowley was now working with the world's most depressing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Any minute now Castiel was going to arrive with his Hunter cavalry. Well. They were in for a rude shock.

From behind, he heard the whoosh of something, and when he turned, he was surprised to see Raphael holding onto an angel blade. Well. It was enterprising, he had to admit. He'd always had a soft spot for the old cripple, because he was one of the rare old guard who had survived... but he really was punching above his weight trying to take down Raphael on his own. Crowley flicked Bobby backwards against the wall, to keep him from lemming himself to death.

"Bit busy, ducky. Be with you in a moment."

"Where the Hell is Castiel?" Bobby snapped at them.

"Castiel is no longer involved in this," Raphael answered, smoothly, and then there was a sudden muffled noise where Crowley assumed Raphael had silenced him. To be fair, he was surprised the supercilious little twit even bothered to acknowledge the existence of a human. Raphael suffered from that angelic superiority complex more than most.

Then came the last line of the spell: 

" _Aperit fauces eius ad mundum nostrum,_  
 _Nunc, ianua magna aperta tandem!_ "

A nice, resounding finish. Open at last indeed. It had been two years in the making, and it was two years that should be well spent, really.

Only... nothing happened. The blood remained just smeared daubs, and the wall remained resolutely just that: a wall. Not a doorway. Nothing. "Mm-hmm," he hummed, looking confused at the mess. "Maybe I said it wrong." He didn't think so, because his Latin was excellent. It had all made perfect sense, but... well. It could make perfect sense and be one word out, after all. Had he said, perhaps, 'linem' instead of 'limen'? It would be an easy enough slip, and there was the appearance of that blasted Hunter. He could read it out again... 

But then - oh perfect - that was when the blasted seraph arrived, holding his own empty jar.

"You said it perfectly," Castiel said. "All you needed was this..." 

This being... the jar. Or its contents. "I see." Gingerly, he walked up to the wall and ran his finger through the daubs. "And we've been working with..." he sucked that finger into his mouth, trying... okay, no. Fooling no one, there: he really was trying to be obscene. Castiel brought that out in him. "Dog blood. Naturally."

Sneaky little shit. Annoyed as he was, Crowley could not help but be proud of Castiel's dissemblance. Little feathers had grown up into a nice little monster any demon would be proud of: first cheating and stealing and backstabbing... followed by lying and conniving. Oh, if only he'd used those powers working _with_ Crowley instead of **against** him...

No. Actually, Crowley preferred Castiel when he was a bit more towards the whiter shade of grey. He needed to be a little tattered around the edges to even talk to Crowley, but the demon had always thought that the rebellious streak in him was the more noble kind: the anti-hero, not the villain of the piece. Or maybe Byronic hero would be more accurate? Just not the end of game or series Big Bad. That was not what Castiel was made to be. 

"Enough of these games, Castiel," Raphael said, obviously just as pissed off as Crowley was. "Give us the blood."

Oh for the love of... why had God made such a pathetic excuse for an archangel? No wonder He'd buggered off, if this was one of his elite. The damned bird would probably fly into a greenhouse window over and over, unable to fathom the existence of transparent glass. "You--" he said to the idiotic excuse for an archangel, "...game's over. His jar's empty. So, Castiel, how'd your ritual go? Better than ours, I'll bet."

A lot better. Crowley had collected the blood himself, and Castiel knew the words and the sigil just as well as he did. He didn't even bother looking to Raphael during this exchange, because she was now a non-player. In the game of 'Sorry', her piece was going right the way back to home. That was, unless this was a game of chess, in which case the powerful Queen was about to be taken by the newly promoted pawn.

Of course, that invitation for the angel to peacock was jumped on immediately. Angels were all the same, underneath. They all had a little bit of Lucifer in them, and all it took was a smidgen of flattery and their heads exploded. Castiel closed his eyes, but he didn't explode. Instead, the weight and light of all those souls within him started to glow beyond the boundaries of his vessel, and Crowley - like the others - was forced to cover his eyes against the brilliance.

Cas had taken the souls all right. There was nothing else could ever glow like that. He burned so brightly that even with his eyes closed and his hand above them, Crowley could still feel the light like an overwhelming pressure on the inside of his skull.

"You can't imagine what it's like," his - no - **the** angel said. "They're all inside me. Millions upon millions of souls."

Crowley could imagine it, which was part of the problem. He'd been imagining it for two years, after all. The wonderful day when they'd both be the joint most powerful creatures alive, barring only God and Death themselves. Which made it even worse that he had never even _contemplated_ betraying Cas. The concept had simply never occurred to him, because it was completely alien to his nature. Sure, he was sometimes flexible or economical with the truth, or the fine print of a deal was written in such a way as to be utterly locked down... but outright deal _breaking_ was not his bag. And he... he'd been happy. With Castiel. He'd thought the angel had been happy, too, but evidently not.

Discretion was the better part of valour, though. Before, he had been safe under Raphael's protection, but now he was under no qualms that Castiel was going to wipe the floor with his br-- er, sister. And shortly after, it would be him. After all, he'd already tried once, and that was just today.

So. "Sounds sexy," he said, unable to resist the final parting snipe at the disloyal whelp. "Exit stage Crowley."

***

Of course the demon left. He could not bear to be around such radiance and good, and he had made the sorry mistake of siding with Raphael instead of _learning his place _, which was back down in _Hell_.__

__Castiel turned now to his older sister, who looked... smaller, now. Before she had been bright and terrible, proud and strong. Now, however, he saw her for what she truly was: a bully. A bully that, when confronted by a true authority figure, cowered and simpered. "Now, what's the matter, Raphael? Somebody clip your wings?"_ _

__It was probably cruel of him to point out her fear, but she had been so heartless, so vicious. He remembered all the dead angels, and they were all Raphael's fault. He had never wanted a war, he had been forced into it: surrender, or die. Those were her terms, all that long time ago. There had never been a possibility for reconciliation, for negotiation. Now she would see what it felt like, to be overpowered._ _

__"Castiel, please. You let the demon go, but not your own brother?" She was bargaining, now. She had to know it would not work, didn't she? There must be an example made, or else no one would understand. And how could he ever trust her again, knowing that she only obeyed out of fear? No: that was no loyalty at all, that was the servitude of a whipped slave. It was not _respect_._ _

__And then... then there was Crowley. She must not know, then, what had happened between them. Well, either she did not know, or she did not understand. Both were equally as likely. Before, he had felt aggrieved that his plan was at risk because of Crowley's machinations, and he had acted out of anger. Yes. Anger. That was it, because he could not think of any other reason why he would have tried to kill him. Crowley was a demon, and demons were evil, sinful, wicked creatures... but Crowley was occasionally... less so, than some._ _

__"The demon I have plans for," he told her. He did not have to - or want to - elaborate on 'what' those plans were. It would all be immaterial for her, anyway. "You, on the other hand..." He snapped his fingers at her, and the archangel just... exploded. Just like that. Just like Lucifer had done to him, not so very long ago. (It felt like longer.) He left the angel blade intact, and it fell to the ground with a metallic clatter._ _

__It was... strange. After all this time, and all this work... all it took was a few squiggles, a few words and a snap of his fingers and the war was over. Won. Done. It felt... strangely empty. Wasn't he supposed to feel better, now? Full? Complete? Happy?_ _

__Bobby was here. Cas noticed that now, when he hadn't before. He wasn't sure why he didn't notice it before. It hadn't seemed important at the time, and it was only important now because there was no one else here._ _

__"So, you see, I saved you," he said, with a beatific little smile. "But where is Dean?"_ _

__"He, uh, got stuck in traffic, Cas."_ _

__"I see." Cas felt... deflated. He had known Dean was coming, it had been a fixed thing. Something he knew, something he expected. He was supposed to show him, now. Show him how _right_ and _righteous_ this was. "Well, it does not matter, I suppose. Because you are here, and you can witness this."_ _

__"Listen, Cas... Dean, uh... Dean asked me to talk to you."_ _

__The angel's attention snapped back around. "He did?"_ _

__"Yeah. Look. We're all super glad you got rid of Raphael and now no one's gonna be rattling on Lucifer's cage no more, but... you know those things inside of you? Yeah. They were put into Purgatory for a reason, you know."_ _

__"Yes. I know. They were monsters."_ _

__"So, you maybe think that swallowing 'em all down was... a bad thing?"_ _

__Castiel paused, frowning at the Hunter. "No. I was an angel, Bobby. An angel. I am stronger than them. I am stronger _with_ them. They were in Purgatory because they needed to be contained until I could use them for good. You all thought I was wrong, you doubted me and you resisted me... but I was not wrong. This is right. This is how it must be." _ _

__"Look, Cas, you don't need 'em any more. You took down Raphael, and like I said we're all thrilled to be rid of him - her - whatever - but those things in you are a poison. Dean said there's Leviathans in there. We need to get them out of you, before you lose control."_ _

__They were originally dark, it was true, but now they were just power. Just raw, unadulterated power. Castiel was stronger than them, because they were just little sparks that all bundled together alongside his Grace. He was the one in control. Of course he was in control. "No, I'm not finished yet. Raphael had many followers, and I must punish them all severely."_ _

__So many angels who hadn't listened to reason. He had to make examples of them all and leave only the faithful in Heaven. Bad angels deserved no place in Heaven, and there were an awful lot of bad angels._ _

__"Punishing? Cas, would ya listen to yourself? You don't need to punish anyone. Alright? You won. You defeated Raphael. You don't need to spank everyone into submission, you hear? People ain't gonna want to follow someone who's a sore winner. You can show compassion, and understanding. You can get 'em to see the light without all that juice. Plenty of 'em followed you when you didn't have a hope in Hell of winning. Remember that, Cas."_ _

__"Yes, I do. I remember how you, and Sam, and Dean all did not believe in me. You thought I was wicked, because I was working with a demon. I was using the demon as a means to an end, nothing more. I cast him aside when he was no longer useful to me. Now I have triumphed, and I have done so alone."_ _

__"Yeah, you won. Great. Congratulations. But you _really_ don't need those souls, Cas. I'm telling ya. It's messing you up inside. So why don't you send 'em all back, and we can work out what to do next... together."_ _

__"You're just saying that because I won. Because you're afraid. You don't like to be proven wrong, you don't like to know that I was right all along."_ _

__"No, I'm saying it because I care about you, you big buffoon. You might be an angel, but that don't mean you're not one of us. You're one of the good guys, Cas. So remember that, 'cause I know you only ever wanted the best, but the road to Hell is paved with good intentions."_ _

__"Was."_ _

__Bobby frowned at him, clearly not understanding._ _

__"Was. You said I 'am' an angel. I am not. I _was_ an angel, but not anymore. I'm your new God. A better one. So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you."_ _

__Because he was, now. He was God. Because what was God other than an all-powerful, all-loving being? And the old God had barely been heard from in hundreds of years. Castiel had never seen His face or heard His voice, so how could he ever believe that He cared? No. God - the old God - was dead, and now Castiel was here in his place. It was why he had been resurrected, after all, much like God's only son._ _

__He would be better, though. He would properly punish the wicked and reward the righteous, or otherwise there was no justice, and no point. If you did not get reprimanded for your transgressions, then they were no longer transgressions. He would be present, and he would rekindle the dying, guttering flame of faith that he had heard fading on the lips of men._ _

__Bobby stared at him, and Castiel was patient. Bobby was only human, after all, and they had a very singular and fixed viewpoint on the world. They could not even see him as an angel once he donned the suit that had been Jimmy Novak, after all. How could he expect their tiny minds to process something as massive as godhood?_ _

__Eventually, Bobby saw sense and lowered himself to his knees. He looked dubious, but it was a start? "Well, all right then. Is this good, or you want the whole 'forehead to the carpet' thing?"_ _

__Castiel watched and expected to feel different. Wasn't he supposed to feel this great, benevolent wave in his chest? This burgeoning love, this swelling feeling of protectiveness and caring? Wasn't he supposed to be the better God? Instead, he watched this old man who barely even believed in the first God - the one who created him - creak to his knees, and it felt like dry ash in his mouth. It was an empty, shallow victory. It was damnation with faint praise. "Stop," he said. "What's the point if you don't mean it? You fear me. Not love, not respect, just fear."_ _

__There was no gratitude on Bobby's face, no pleasure at the way he had saved the world. Not like the last time, even though the last time they had actually lost Sam in the process, but everyone had been so grateful for his assistance, and Castiel had felt... good._ _

__"I'm sorry my kowtowing isn't deep enough," Bobby drawled, "...but I was hoping you'd be different than the rest."_ _

__"I am," Castiel insisted, frowning. "I did not do this for myself. I did this for _you_. You and all the humans, and all the angels. I did not want to take this role on, but I see, now, that without a figure of authority then you - like the angels - cannot thrive. But you are just a human, after all. You cannot understand something as big as this." He sighed. "Get up."_ _

__With a grunt, Bobby did. He looked dolefully from under the brim of his cap. "We don't need another God, Cas. We just need you back. The last feller did a runner already. Don't you think there's a reason for that?"_ _

__"He left because... because of wickedness," Castiel decided, though even as he said it, he wasn't sure he believed it, or even what he might believe. "But it is unimportant, because now you have me. You have me, and I will be a better God."_ _

__"Right. Okay. So... what? You gonna kill everyone who opposes you? 'Cause that don't sound any better to me."_ _

__"What a brave little ant you are. You know you're powerless, you wouldn't dare move against me again. That would be pointless. So I have no need to kill you. Not now. Besides... once you and your boys were my favourite pets - before you turned and bit me."_ _

__"Pets?" Bobby growled at him. "Is that what you see your friends as?"_ _

__" _Friends do not conspire behind your back_ ," Castiel snapped._ _

__"Yeah, well, weren't you doing just that with Crowley?"_ _

__"That was a means to an end, you fool."_ _

__"And what you did to Sam? That's the actions of a loving God? One I'd want to follow? Didn't you say you'd fix him?"_ _

__Why was he challenging him, even now? Didn't the old fool realise how very dangerous this was? "I did... _if_ you stood down, which you hardly did. Be thankful that I am merciful, for I could have cast him straight back down into the Pit."_ _

__"I don't know who you are, now. I knew Castiel, and you ain't him."_ _

__"No, that is correct. I told you. The Castiel you knew is gone. I'm God. And if you stay in your place, you may live in my kingdom. If you rise up, I will strike you down."_ _

__"So I see," Bobby said, with a resigned sigh. "I hope you come to your senses soon, Cas. This is the Leviathans talking, not you."_ _

__"I have never been better. Now, I hope for your sake this is the last you see of me," said the new God, and then he left Bobby alone in the laboratory. There was much to do._ _


	18. Chapter 18

"I tried... Dean, I did everything I could."

"I know, Bobby, it's okay."

"Yeah, but that don't make it any better. He's totally gone off the reservation. I guess it's the power, going to his head and all, but..."

Dean nodded, not too happy about reliving this part of his past. "Yeah, I remember. Calling himself 'God'. Next he's gonna rough people up in the name of himself, make a big song and dance and then? Then he'll just plain vanish."

"It wasn't like you said, though."

That made Dean start. "It... wasn't?"

"Nope. When I got there, it was just Crowley and Raphael, but Raphael was wearing high heels this time around."

"No Cas?"

The older Hunter shook his head. "Nope. Seemed they'd had a falling out. Crowley thought he had the right stuff, but it turns out Cas pulled a fast one on him and opened up Purgatory on his own. When Cas showed up and turned Raphael to confetti, Crowley left pretty sharp."

"Huh."

"You... sound surprised?"

"Yeah. I wonder what went wrong. I mean... in my timeline? Or reality, or whatever... they were pretty much joined at the freaking hip. I'm telling you, Bobby, you ain't seen nothing like it. When Crowley thought Cas was dead, he went all... all three sails to the wind crazy. I mean... it's pretty gross."

That took Bobby by surprise. "What. You're saying he and Cas...?"

The Winchester nodded, then shuddered. "It's not... it's not that he's a dude, Bobby. It's that he's a demon. And I just never expected it, but... it happened. And in my universe, they're whacko for one another. It's kind of sickening at times, but Cas insisted he was happy."

"Did you believe him?"

Dean thought about that for a moment. A long, hard moment. "Yeah. I think he was. And I guess Crowley pulled through for us, too. It's just... weird. And I was worried about Cas."

"Stranger things have happened. Like you: coming back in time."

"I'm starting to think if maybe this ain't the past, Bobby. I mean, this isn't the reality I remember, and fro what you're saying, no one else remembers the place I just came from. What if... what if this isn't real?"

"Don't we all think that some days... but tell me what you're thinking, anyway."

This was complicated, but Dean had been thinking about it on the long, lonely drive back over from Detroit. Every normal, non-infected person he passed made the horror of 2014 seem like some surreal, false reality. "Where I just came from... was pretty much my idea of Hell. Hear me out on this: you... you were gone." He didn't need to tell him that he'd died years ago, or only a little while from now. Some things were better left unsaid. "People you don't even know yet, but people I was supposed to look out for... they all ran off, or went and got themselves killed. And Sam? Sam said yes to the Devil."

"Why'd he go and do a thing like that? Damn fool."

"See, that's what I can't figure out. He said yes when we were trying to trap him that one time, but every time he's done it in - well - 2014? There's no explanation I can see. And Sammy... Sammy wouldn't do it. Not unless he thought it was the only way to prevent something worse. And don't you think if there was a good reason, Lucifer would be waving it right in my face?"

"So you think it's not real, then?"

"I'd say pretty much a given. I was talking to the dick, when he just upped and vanished. And he did that, right when I realised it didn't make sense."

"Like in a dream."

"Huh?"

"Like in a dream, when you're aware you're dreaming. It's called lucid dreaming, if you can control it. Maybe that's what this is?"

"Then why am I... oh." Dean blinked.

"What is it?"

"Uh. Now you're gonna think I'm a freaking dumbass. Back in... 2014? Long story short, but to get Crowley off his addiction to blood, Cas and he went into this freaky..." he waved his hands around in a vague gesture, "...magic curing dream thing, only they didn't wake up. So I went in to help them, and then I..." Oh, god. "I woke up, and that's when we heard Lucifer was out."

"So... you think you never woke up?"

"I think I never woke up. Think about it, my worst nightmare? Pretty much is Sam as Lucifer, and the whole world gone to crap." It felt weird to admit that aloud. If this was real, Bobby was one of the few people he'd even say it to, but if it was a dream... was he just talking to himself? "But when I worked that out, this must be Cas or Crowley's nightmare."

"But which one?"

"So far? I have no clue. I mean, if they've broken up, it could be either of them. I know it ain't mine, because I'd be singing hallelujah from the rooftops normally. But which of them is gonna be most cut up with Cas as Godstiel?"

"Sounds to me like Crowley's. I mean, he's lost the most here, hasn't he?"

"I guess you're right. So. What do you reckon? You think we summon him, try to get him to see it's not real?"

"If this is a dream like you think it is, then yes. But what if it isn't? What if this is now the real world, and Sam's in a coma, and you're running around trying to wake people up? You gonna shove him off a building, just to prove he don't die?"

"Tempting as that sounds, I think he'd still be alive when he landed, so no."

"So... what if I work on Sam, and you work on Crowley? That way, if this is actually real? We can stop those Leviathan things you said, and find a way to fix Sam. Judging by the fact your future Sam was okay to run around being an archangel, I'm guessing he didn't stay catatonic forever."

"Nope. But to fix him... we're gonna need Cas back, anyway."

"Perfect. Well. No time to waste, then."

***

Of course, when he arrived in Heaven, almost everyone immediately acknowledged him as the new leader. There were a few who were still loyal Raphael, but most of them came to recognise him as the new leader, but he couldn't accept their pledges. How could he? How could he trust someone whose loyalty was as shifting as the desert sands? If the wind blew south-south-west, would they change allegiance once more?

This was how things went - or how they were supposed to go. You sinned, and you were punished. You did wrong, and you went to Hell, to Purgatory, to whatever end you deserved. Why would anyone ever do good, if not for the fear of retribution? There was no incentive that way, and people, angels, demons... they all needed encouraging.

So he made an example of them. He tore his once-siblings apart, and Heaven was littered with the shadows of their wings. In the end, he lost count of how many of them died, but he didn't forget their faces. Every single one was burned deep into his memory, because they had once been good. Castiel, too, had to remember this lesson, so that he did not waver. So that he did not give in to weakness later, so he did not become complacent.

He addressed the others, offering his pronouncement and judgement. "Understand: if you followed Raphael, if you stood against me, punishment is certain; there is nowhere to hide. The rest of you... our Father left a long time ago, and that was hard. I thought the answer was free will. But I understand now. You need a firm hand. You need a father, and I am your father now. Be obedient, children - or this will be your fate."

Death. That was what waited for those who opposed him. It was unfortunate, but it was necessary. If you let them live, then they resented you as Lucifer had. They grew to hate you, and they rose up against you, and they tried to destroy everything. Castiel did not want that: he wanted the world. The world that Sam and Dean had shown him, the one full of possibilities and love.

Love. A flash of amber eyes and a rich, deep laugh made him wince, but he pushed that down. It hadn't been real love, he told himself. A demon could not truly adore him in the way he really deserved, and the half-love of a dead, broken thing was not worth keeping. No: as God, everyone would learn to love him... or learn the error of refusal.

"It is a new day," he told them. "On Earth, and in Heaven. Rejoice."


	19. Chapter 19

Crowley was no fool, of course. Castiel was ridiculously over-powered, and it was at least half his fault. But instead of having a souped up angel-bomb on his hands, and being able to rest on his laurels, proud of his work... well. Now he was almost convinced that he was the new Public Enemy Number One. With Raphael gone, Castiel would be sure to cement his new role and that probably meant cutting all his old ties.

Ties like, say, the demon he'd fucked. Crowley's jaw clenched as he poured himself another glass of Craig, trying not to remember. It wasn't even that he was going to miss the fucking, per se. He was sure he could get no end of tail of either gender persuasion without very much work. For one, there was Cecily... Castiel had been jealous, even though Crowley hadn't ever really considered straying in anything other than the most academic, hypothetical senses. Now he thought about it, just to spite him. He thought about bending her over the counter, here... he thought about sliding his hands up the insides of her perfectly trim thighs, or slipping into her. He thought about the noises she would make as he fingered her roughly, because it would be rough. It would be angry, hate-filled sex, but the hate wouldn't be directed at her, oh no. It would be the kind of fucking he wanted to do to Cas, but was forced to do to her instead. He tried to imagine the squeaking of her voice, or the way she would smell when he made her wet and wanting, but... it did nothing for him, but make him more distraught.

He didn't want to fuck Cecily. He didn't want to fuck anyone, really... except for Castiel. It was just a matter of time, surely. That's how breakups went, right? You missed them for a while, but then you got over it. Sometimes you fucked around, just to get the knot out of your dick. Yeah. It had been so long since he'd actually felt something like that, that he didn't really have a frame of reference. It was just fiction that told him he'd get over this, but fiction was based on reality, in a sense? Yes?

So if he just drank a lot, ate a lot, cried a lot... no. The King of Hell did not cry. He did not sob like a little pussy bitch. Just because he'd had a break up... it was nothing. He was a demon. Demons were used to the torment of Hell, and a single bad break up was just like a splinter in the finger, nothing more. He could get over this, and he _would_ get over this. He was not going to give Castiel the satisfaction of upsetting him, because then he lost and Cas won. It was already bad enough that he was relegated to this... this... **hovel**.

He looked about this stupid little... well. Trailer. It was horrific, really, and it was such a step down from his luxurious, happy little home in Hell. But here? Here he had a chance at hiding, with all the marks he'd drawn over every available surface. It looked like either some graffiti artist had gone insane inside with a can of black spray paint, or perhaps that it was some modern art homage to tattooists everywhere. He had sufficient Craig to last him for at least the night, and he could get more later. There was nothing to do, but watch the television, so he flicked on the little set to see what was happening in the big, bad world with him out of it. 

"... since biblical times. Leprosy was once so prevalent that colonies were found around the world. Today we are witnessing the unprecedented shutdown of India's leper colonies after what many are calling a miracle healing. Here with us, health correspondent Rob Lewinsky."

It was a very unfortunate name, really, but what were you to do? It wasn't as if you could just remove surnames from existence when someone managed to muddy it forever. Well. Hitler was kind of one of the rare examples, because no one in their right mind would want the drama of making their every introduction subject to either crude jokes, outright revulsion, or suspicion of their relation to the most famous of Austria's psychopaths.

"Educate me, Lewinsky." Use that mouth of yours. Wrap it around me, and take my mind off of...

The screen went dark, though, and Crowley was cursing under his breath. Really? Really?!

"Hello, Crowley."

He said it so calmly, of course. Like it was any other day, and this was him coming to visit him in his office, in Hell. Like they were still working together, or maybe even like they were just acquaintances. Crowley couldn't work out what direction this was headed in, and that made him feel anxious and wrong-footed. Surely if he was here to kill him, he wouldn't sound so damned... normal?

Castiel didn't sound like he was here to apologise, which would have been his preferred outcome to this. He was, however, a realist. Pragmatist. He hadn't survived as long as he had by being a damn fool, had he? Well, this was a one off. He could be forgiven making one mistake, but it wouldn't be one repeated.

When he didn't reply, the angel carried on. "You look stressed."

Crowley sighed heavily. Stressed... that was one word for it, of course. A polite word. A more realistic one would be 'terrified', but then it would need some intensifier before it, and he wasn't thinking of something as tame as 'very', either. "Bollocks..." He pushed himself up, because he was damned if he was going to die on his arse.

"So, the jig is up. You found me." 

Crowley smiled at him, because he was going to pretend he was calm and composed, and not falling to pieces inside, like he really was. And he was. Here in the angel's presence, his heart was pounding double-time in his chest. He couldn't even tell if it was all fear or not. After all, the angel had liked it... rough at times. He remembered being bent over in a diner, being made to beg for the angel's cock, then having it shoved into his mouth so he all but choked on it. He remembered feeling filthy at the time, but loving it, too. He'd made the angel like this, he'd twisted him into this evil, rude approximation of heavenly beauty. 

He was forced to admit, to himself, that if Castiel tried that now, he'd probably still take it. He'd let the angel bend him into shape, to use his body harshly, and he'd love every fucking minute of it. What did that say about him? What did that say about his sense of self-worth, that even the concept of being an angel's fucktoy sounded appealing? It said he hated himself more than Castiel ever could, was what. It said that Crowley was a useless wreck, and that this wasn't love, not really. It was sex for the sake of sex, it was messed up, and it was unhealthy.

Demon, Crowley. Demon.

"I never lost you," the angel told him. 

Oh, wasn't that ever so slightly stalkery and freaky and not at all reassuring to hear? If it was true, though it must be. He watched Castiel examine his very, **very** detailed anti-angel warding scrawled over every available surface with what looked like disdain.

"These scratches, they're all useless," Castiel said, answering the question once and for all.

"Still... can't blame a girl for trying," he countered. "Fancy a drink before you smite me?"

"No."

Not that Castiel ever really had gone in for that kind of thing, but it was the polite thing to say, it was what the host should say in these situations. It was not just him trying to buy more time. Except, it was.

"You like to bend them right over, do you? Let's go." He closed his eyes, and spread his arms wide. The trailer was so small that he ended up hitting the television aerial, which somewhat ruined the dramatic effect he was going for, and was just par for the fucking course, really. If he was going out, he was going out on his terms, when he invited it. And he'd like it to be fast and painless, too, but he supposed it would only hurt for a moment, and then when he was dead he wouldn't even remember that there had been such a thing as pain in the first place. Did he go to Purgatory? Or did he simply cease to exist? Maybe he should have asked Castiel if there were any demons in him, now?

"I'm not going to kill you, Crowley. I have plans for you."

Like that didn't sound ominous as all Hell. "What's it?" he asked, but he'd barely finished speaking before the angel decided to answer. This new, chatty Cathy Cas was weird.

"Here's our new arrangement: I let you live, you return to your post as King of Hell."

Yeah, there was going to be a catch of some form. Always was. "...but?"

"I choose where each soul goes. I control the flow, and you take whatever I give you."

Crowley turned away, partially because he didn't want Castiel to see how this rattled him, even if he knew the angel would know full-well how he felt about this. So he was going to install him as a puppet monarch, a paper King? Something just to look good on the stamps, whilst Cas frittered away the oil under his sands? How very American. He must have been picking up more about the world through their time together, or else the Winchesters had been giving him lessons in how to rule. 

"I take it you intend to keep the lion's share?" Made sense. He'd called him kitten, so of course he'd grow up to be the Cowardly Lion. He'd let Crowley do all the hard work, to hunt with the other lionesses in the pride, and then he'd take the spoils of the kill anyway. If it wasn't for the biological imperative to continue the species, the bastard male lions would have found themselves unfed a long time ago. Viva parthenogenesis. "So, what you're saying is Hell's being downsized?"

"I would have done away with it completely, but I need a threat to hold over my enemies, and we need to keep Michael and Lucifer's Cage."

At least the angel struggled to meet his eyes when he said this, maybe realising how like the old _ruler_ of Hell. But it was the smug little smile when he spoke that was the worst part. Wasn't it enough that they both knew how humiliated Crowley was? Why did he feel he had to look like he was the - again - cat who got the cream? Crowley wanted nothing more than to wipe that infuriatingly self-satisfied smirk from his pretty, cupid-bow mouth and force those lips to...

"Right," he bit out, instead. "I gather this is not a, uh, negotiation." It was not really a question, either.

"No."

"Then I graciously accept," he said, with a broad smile and a tiny, empty bow over the similarly empty tumbler, "...boss." And, speaking of, he needed more. A whole hell of a lot more. He turned to pour himself a nice, healthy couple of fingers, trying to forget what the word 'fingers' made him think of. 

"I'll be in touch," the angel told him.

Crowley turned back to reply, to say something sharp but just this side of dangerous, but... oh, surprise, surprise. The feathery fucker had fucked the fuck off. 

Dick.

Well, that answered the question about the status of their relationship, then. Or the lack thereof. There probably wasn't going to be any angry, messy, hate-sex, because if there was? He was sure Cas, power high from all those souls, would have rogered him into a screaming pile of goo right now.

Crowley tried to remind himself that it was a good thing he wasn't.

Because.

It was.

It... was.


	20. Chapter 20

Dean finished off the summoning spell, and stood waiting. Sure enough, without too much of a wait... there was Crowley. The demon was nursing a glass of something that was probably whiskey, and he looked... well. He looked terrible, if truth be told. Seeing as how he had just - apparently - gone through a break up, Dean could understand it.

"No!" Crowley snapped at him, looking down at the Devil's Trap below his feet. "No, no, no! Oh for the love of... really?"

"Listen up, this is important."

"I'm sure you think so, but does your new BFF know I'm here?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Cas?"

"Yes, the one and only Lord Almighty Version 2.0. He's not going to be happy about you talking to me, you know."

"Yeah, well, he can bite me. It's you I need to talk to, not him."

That obviously caught the demon's attention, because he took a step closer, until he hit the edge of the trap. "It is?"

"Yep. Much as you're a douche and I hate you, I gotta help you."

"Now I _know_ something's wrong, because I just thought I heard a Winchester say he wanted to help me? Please, enlighten me: is this one of those 'I really want help but I'm going to pretend it's in your best interests' deals, because I have to tell you, I'm a damn sight older than you, and I've sold sin to saints for--"

"For centuries, yeah, I get it. You're this clever hot-shot Crossroads badass. But this is actually something in your best interests, Crowley. It does make my life easier, too, I'll admit it... but it's not selfish, why I've called you here."

"Where are the rest of your flock?" Crowley asked, peering about. "I thought you never went anywhere without your Moose."

"None of this is real, Crowley."

"...quite an opening statement, don't you think? Am I really the best person to have this discussion with? I appreciate I'm well versed in metaphysics and the nature of life, the universe and everything... but I'm not inclined to discuss it with unstable Hunters who drag me in against my will."

"You don't understand... _this is a dream_ ," Dean tried. "Well. A nightmare. You're really asleep in the bunker, in 2014. Cas put you in this trance thing to get you through the cold turkey, and you didn't wake up, 'cause you're stuck in your worst nightmare. And you need to realise it's a dream, because when you do? You take back control, and we can all go home."

Crowley scrunched his face up, considering this. He didn't really expect it to be as easy as just saying 'boo' and the demon listen to him, but hey, it had been worth a try. "So, what? You're supposed to be my... id? Or the subconscious manifestation of my self-hatred? Or my vision of a champion of all that is good and light? Because I happen to know myself pretty well, and I don't think I would cast you in any role other than minor annoyance or plucky comic relief."

"I'm real," Dean insisted.

"Oh. Right. Silly me... none of this is real, but you and me. And, presumably, Castiel? Anyone else, while we're at it?"

"Look, Cas and you went in together, and I came in when you didn't wake up."

"And in what universe would I allow myself to be helpless in your presence, Dean? You have to admit, we've not often seen eye to eye. We're occasional allies of convenience, nothing more."

"In my world... in my world, you and Cas opened up Purgatory together, and you were still happily being gross together well into 2014, okay? I didn't like it, but Cas was set on it. Cas came to us because we had the books and the safe place to do it. No, we're not friends, but we're not... trying to kill one another." At least, not usually, Dean thought.

"Right... right. You know what? This is a really funny joke, but I've had enough now. So you can turn off the camera and all go and have a good laugh to yourselves, because you pulled one over on the King of Hell." He put down the glass of whiskey and slow clapped. "You can dine out on this in Hunter circles until you all drop dead."

"I'm telling you the truth, asshole! You opened Purgatory, then you realised the souls were bad, you put them back but not the Leviathans. Then Cas went missing, the Leviathans nearly killed everyone, and... it's a long story, okay? But the long and short of it is, Cas fucking loves you, you damn fool. Why do you think he came asking me for help? Well. I just got out of my worst possible nightmare, so now we gotta shake you the Hell out of yours. And then either we're awake, or we're in Cas'. And when we're all fine, we get to go home and kill Abaddon."

"Abaddon?"

Dean clapped a hand to his face and ran it down slowly. This was harder than expected. "Yeah. Knight of Hell. She's pretty much taken over since you keep being AWOL. We're working together to kill her."

"The Knights of Hell are all dead, Dean. Everyone knows that."

"Well, one of them didn't die. She went through a time portal following my grandfather, after trying to slaughter all the Men of Letters."

That caught his attention. "You said 'Men of Letters'? I thought they were all wiped out."

"About the same time as Abaddon vanished? Yep. See: how could I know that?"

Crowley's eyes narrowed as he tried to work through the logic. "Either you are from the future, or you _are_ a part of my subconscious, and you're using my memories against me."

"Dude, how the fuck do you function if you're this paranoid?"

"Would you believe _me_ if the situation was reversed? No? Thought not."

Crowley paced again, then looked down at the trap. "Would you be so kind?"

"Dude, this is a dream. It won't hold you." Dean wasn't sure it was true, but he was trying to get Crowley to accept this, no matter what it took.

The demon considered it, then stepped forwards. There was a grunt, and like a mime, he seemed to hit an invisible brick wall. He rolled his eyes, and then stood waiting. Dean decided he had to make a show of faith, so he scuffed through a line, and turned on his heel as Crowley circled around him to where the chairs sat empty. He gestured to one with a raised eyebrow, and Dean nodded, taking the other chair.

"If - as you say - this is a dream, then why don't I already have control of it?" Crowley asked. "Normally, from what I remember, once you realise you're in a dream, that's it? Either you wake up, or it becomes lucid. I assume this is the same thing, magical or not."

"I dunno, maybe you don't believe me enough?"

"Well, you're going to need to be more convincing, then," Crowley said, snapping his fingers and re-appearing his drink. He lifted it in a toast, and then sipped at it.

"...right. How?"

"I can't very well tell you how to convince me, can I? If I knew how to do it to myself, I'd have already done it."

"...right." Dean licked his lips, trying to think of something.

Crowley seemed to take pity on him, then. "Why don't you tell me about your nightmare? It should be good for a couple of laughs at your broken psyche, if nothing else."

A growl: "I don't need you dicking around in my mind, thanks."

"Well, as you're apparently currently a fully cogent actor in _mine_ , I think it's only fair. Come on, Dean. How bad could it be?"

Fine. Fine... "I dreamt that I went into your dream, and I woke you both up, and then when we were back in reality, Abaddon had freed Lucifer, but not Michael."

That made Crowley sit forwards. "Oh?"

"Yeah." This was... uncomfortable. "The world went to shit, with the Croatoan virus, and..."

"Sam said yes to Satan, didn't he?" Crowley didn't even need him to confirm that, and Dean felt uncomfortable knowing he was so easily read. "Sounds like a fun Friday night to me. So, what eventually snapped you out of your dream-within-a-dream?"

Dean was rather... pleased with this bit of deduction. "I met Lucifer face to face, and it just... didn't add up. It didn't make sense, that Sam would say yes. Not without some good reason. And then I realised that all the other crap - the world falling apart, and... and me not being able to keep people safe... it was just my worst nightmare come true. And it didn't make _sense_ , and then when that was clear, Lucifer vanished and I was back in 2011."

"Well, there's your problem."

"What?"

"This? This all makes perfect sense. While I'm happy that you and Sam are erotically co-dependent, not all of us share that luxury." Crowley sipped at his whiskey slowly, his eyes studiously avoiding meeting Dean's.

"That's where you're wrong. Cas fucking loves you, you idiot."

"Now, we might have shared a few, lust-fuelled nights here and there, but you need to be careful before you go bandying about--"

"No: shut up. He loves you. And you love him. You really wanna tell me that if he turned up right here, right now, and begged for your help you'd see him suffer? You wouldn't take him straight back? Because that's _bull_ , Crowley. I've seen you pretty much up against the wall, and for whatever reason, even a demon like you? I'd take a bet on any odds you'd fling yourself under a bus for him. Tell me this isn't your worst nightmare? Being turned into a patsy and dumped?"

"I can think of worse--"

"No. No you can't. You're a freaking Casanova, Crowley."

"That's hardly a good comparison, Dean."

"Well... fine. Romeo. Juliet. Whatever tragic, love-struck hero you wanna think of? That's you. Hell, you were prepared to work with me and Sammy because of it. And I know you... you hate the thought of people breaking contracts. Saw you pretty much prepared to flay one of your demons alive for finding a loophole about calling in chits early. This? This is the most terrible thing ever. And you gotta realise... Cas would never do this to you. And the sooner you realise that, the sooner we can all go back to Kansas."

The demon looked... pale. Shaken. It probably should have felt more gratifying than it did to see him so upset, but Dean didn't feel good about it. He was psycho-analysing those deep, dark places in him, and someone as self-preserving as Crowley probably hated being so vulnerable and open. 

"You're wrong," Crowley said, with a shrug. "I'm a demon, Dean. And Cas has been pretty much clear on what he thinks about that - about whatever 'we' were, if we were ever anything at all. I can't just wake up, because this? This... is real. And you're going to need to do better if you're going to convince me otherwise. If nothing else, the new God would probably smite me just for talking to you." A slow, heavy sigh. "Call me when you've got more proof, because I'm not swallowing your so-called red pill."

"Crowley, wait--!"

But the demon had already left. Dean slammed his fist down onto the arm of the chair. "Damnit!"


	21. Chapter 21

Castiel stared at the remains of the political campaign office. Lies. It was all lies, of course. Wickedness. Campaigning with God on their side, without bothering to ask God what he thought. And the _wickedness_ these so-called _believers_ were involved in! Quite aside from the lying and claiming to be doing his work... there were adulterers in their midst. They smiled at their husbands and wives, and then they conducted duplicitous relationships behind their backs. They took bribes, and they promised things they had no intention of delivering.

Castiel - God - did not care who slept with whom, really. He was, as he had said, indifferent to sexual orientation. He was indifferent, too, if they chose to conduct relations outside of wedlock. What he did not like? Was the _lying_ , the concealing, the doing things that would be hurtful. It was not difficult, was it? You loved, and you made your loved ones happy. You were honest. You told them what you were thinking, you told them what you were doing... you didn't _conceal_ or _deceive_.

It was why he had wreaked his vengeance, of course. They needed to be taught a lesson, because if you didn't punish the wicked, then everything fell apart. It was why he had made sure that every last, lying monster was told what they had done wrong, in front of everyone.

Wicked. Wickedness. Like demons. Demons were wicked, he knew. Demons had sinned and sold their souls, and then they had agreed to torture others. That was how damnation worked, of course. You broke them down until they agreed to carry the torch, and then they were consigned to hellfire for eternity. You did wrong, you were punished.

Unless God had plans for you.

No... he couldn't use Dean to excuse the others. Dean was the Righteous Man, and if the Righteous Man had been already torturing others, well... they had made the decision to go down there. They were wicked, but Dean... Dean wasn't? No. Dean wasn't. Cas was God. Surely he should be able to see the difference, but the truth was... Dean had looked almost as twisted as any demon, in Hell.

That was the old God's logic, and he was the new God. That's why it didn't make sense. Why one was wicked, one not. Why Cecily and Meg and Abaddon and Crowley were all the same, were all evil and beyond saving, but Dean was not. 

Crowley.

Yes.

Crowley was wicked, wasn't he? He bought souls. He knew what they would go through, in Hell, and he still bought them. He sent Hellhounds out to collect, he oversaw the maiming of immortal, everlasting essences into pained, twisted, broken things. That was wrong. Castiel was struggling to work out what else was wrong about Crowley, because he'd been there, too. He'd been there, capturing and interrogating monsters. He'd been there, knife in hand, making them scream and shout. But Crowley had done it to cement his hold in Hell, and Castiel had done it to save the world. That had to be how it was different, then. It was the ends that were wicked, not the means.

So it was okay that Castiel had changed the rules on him, because Castiel was God, and Castiel was trying to save the world, and that was why it was okay. Crowley was evil, and Castiel was good. It was not lying, because he had meant to go through with it to begin with. And then, when he had realised the error, he had told him. He had said 'this is changing'. And he'd decided it the moment before, so it wasn't lying. It was okay.

Like all this... death. It was justice and execution, not murder. It was not because he had lost his temper. It was not because he secretly liked the feel of blood, or the look of terror, or the screams and begging for pity. God would not like those things. It was a necessary thing, like the rain was. The lightning struck because it was natural to, it did not intend to cause damage or instil fear, that was just... a side-effect.

Castiel had been wicked before, in engaging physically with the demon. That was wrong, because it was not love. It was not love, because you could not love something evil, and something evil could not love you back. It all made sense now, he told himself. It all made sense, it did. 

Not love. It couldn't be love. He stared at the broken, empty bodies. Their souls should go to Hell, of course. Most of them. But he needed them, you see. And if he took them, he gave them a chance to be better. To be used for good reasons, even if they had not lead the lives they should. It was the same with the souls currently inside of him, the ones from Purgatory. They had been wicked, horrid, nasty things in life, and now in death he gave them a chance to work with him for the greater good. For Heaven.

His head hurt from all this difficult thinking, but it was okay. Being God was not easy. It was really hard, hearing all these voices calling out ~~and baying for blood~~ and asking for help. Someone had to do it, though, and it was him. It was him, because he was the only one with the purity of intention, and strength of will. He would do it, but not because he was proud, or power-hungry, no. Not because he liked the way the souls felt coursing through him ~~except when he didn't~~ , but because it was necessary.

Castiel wished that Crowley hadn't been a demon, because then he wouldn't have had to do this. They could have continued to work together properly, instead of... this. With him as another piece of the larger machine. That way he could have flown down to see him, and he could have told him all the wonderful things he'd done. He could have put his head on Crowley's shoulder, and felt fingers stroking down his spine. Could have listened to soft words of encouragement and adoration, and known that all this pain was worth... of course it was worth it.

Of course. The blood would wash off, and the spreading blackness under his skin was... nothing. The surging in his belly. 

Castiel was good. Castiel was God.

Castiel... was alone...

***

Cecily came the moment she was summoned, of course. Crowley expected there to be at least some delay, and he timed every last second between calling for her and her arriving. Was it faster than usual? He wasn't sure. He kept trying to find things that would prove the lie to this reality, but nothing was conclusive. He'd never timed her arrivals before, so that wasn't even really a rigorous test. Not to mention, in a dream you often skipped over parts but felt like they'd happened, so... 

"Hey, boss."

"Hello, Cecily." He smiled at her, and she smiled back. His own expression was probably somewhat distant, because he saw the questioning flicker in her eyes, and he thought very loudly 'Can you hear me?', even though she shouldn't be able to, and it was not the best check but it was one. Still, if this was his dream, maybe his mind would prevent him thinking 'beyond' it like that.

There was no answering verbal or mental 'yes' to his question, so he waved her to the chair opposite his desk.

She looked nervous, and he remembered that he'd gone missing and told her to keep her head down, and now he was back, and he hadn't explained any of it. Yes. Of course. Keeping a track of things was... well. More difficult, given the ~~heartbreak~~ complications.

"I suppose you're wondering what happened," he stated. It was not really a question, but it also sort of was.

There was a pause, and then she nodded, slowly. Crowley found himself trying to assess whether the pause was explicable or not, but... okay. No. There was such a thing as over-thinking, and he was going to fall down the rabbit hole at this rate. He was going to have to just... what? Did he just assume the world was real, and wait for something to prove it otherwise? Or did he assume it was a dream and push and potentially do something terrible if it wasn't actually a dream? 

He needed to be more drunk for this. 

"I'm guessing you don't have the souls."

"You would be correct."

She glanced around, clearly off-put by his sudden silence. "So, the world is still here, and no Lucifer, so... Castiel?"

He nodded. 

"He opened it on his own?"

"Does that surprise you?" he asked, carefully, trying not to show how much the answer mattered to him.

"Well... no? I mean... he's an angel, right? And you're... the King of Hell."

"Yes." 

"So... it was always gonna be difficult, right? What with the whole Montagues and Capulets thing you had going on. I mean... it was nice, and all, but I wouldn't trust an angel long-term." But then she stopped, because she seemed to realise that she might be putting her foot in it.

"You can be frank with me," he reassured her. "Don't worry about that."

"Sorry... I know you're probably super pissed with him, but... did you expect anything else? I mean, how was it gonna work out?" Now she'd started, though, there seemed to be no stopping her, and Crowley wished he'd not invited her candour. "They're all self-obsessed, you know yourself. All judgemental and black and white morality, well no thank you... I mean, I'm happy here in Hell and they probably all want me to be dead so there's that against them, and--"

"Alright... thank you. I understand your point of view, now. Well... he took the souls, and now... now we have to, ah--" Damn, it was difficult to admit this. "There will be a change in the flow of souls. I need you to work with Scotius on that for me. I'll be giving instructions about the final... locations of them."

"He's stealing _our souls_ too? Not just Purgatory?" Cecily's voice squeaked, it went that high, and Crowley winced.

"It's a temporary thing," he lied, when it might well be long-term. Permanent, even, if he couldn't work a way around this.

"...right." She looked dejected, and he felt that way, too. 

If she was a figment of his imagination, she was bloody convincing.

"That's... that's all. Thank you for coming."

"No problem," she said, hurriedly pushing to her feet. "I'll get right on it, boss."

"And... keep the reasons under your hat. The new sheriff upstairs is somewhat over-zealous."

"Gotcha," she said with a wink. "And... for what it's worth? I'm sorry."

"Yes. Now run along, I have a lot to do."

He didn't mean to be so rude, but he had a lot to think about.

***

"No luck, huh?" Bobby asked.

"I tried talking him through it, but he didn't believe me," Dean said, dropping onto a chair opposite the older Hunter.

"Well... no one told you. Maybe if it is his dream, he has to work it out for himself?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess. I just thought he'd jump at the chance to... well. Get out of this."

"You can say it, you know."

"What?" Dean asked, feigning ignorance, even though he knew Bobby had to see right through him.

"This crapsack reality, I know. It's pretty much shit. Sam's still out for the count, Cas thinks he's God, and pretty much the only good thing going is Raphael and Lucifer aren't running around."

It had other things going for it, though. Things like Bobby not being dead, but there was no way on Earth Dean was ever going to say that aloud. "Yeah. But the present's not all that much better, Bobby."

"Don't tell me, in case this is real and I have to live through it. Let me live in my fantasy world where I can at least... naw. You're right. Ain't never better."

Dean ruffled fingers through his hair as he tried to think this through. "What can I do, then? I mean... do I need to do some freaky couples therapy? Maybe send them both to see a shrink? I don't even think Cas would talk to me when he's like this, and then if it follows on like reality, he's gonna forget _everything_ and think he's a human."

"He... what?"

"I know, weird, right? He just went total Bourne on us. We thought he was dead for the longest time. Maybe... maybe we should try talking to him?"

"You really think that's wise? I mean, he's all over the news, Dean. He's pretty much turned into the Old Testament vengeful type of God. Didn't you see the reports?"

"Yeah, I did. Look... what have we got to lose? If this is real, then Cas deserves us trying to help him. Sure, he screwed up, but we all do. And if it's not real, then we need to get back into the real world."

"Alright. But if he rains down a plague of locusts on ya..."

"Then you can say 'I told you so' all you want."

"Fine. Let's do it, then."

Dean looked up at the ceiling. He wasn't sure if it helped, but it made him feel less of an idiot. "Cas? Uh... God? Are you listening? Can you hear me? Cas... we need to talk. Please."

Nothing. No flap of wings. Dean looked over to Bobby, who shook his head slowly. 

"I guess... I guess we just keep yelling til he answers."


	22. Chapter 22

"I heard your prayers," Cas said, his eyes narrowed. "Every one of them. Why did you keep praying? Didn't you realise I would come as soon as I was free?"

Dean had fallen asleep in Bobby's armchair, and he jumped at the sudden interruption. "Hey, Cas."

"I am very busy, Dean. I have many people who need me. There is a whole world out there, and every minute there are a million voices crying out in pain."

"Right. I guess it's pretty annoying, right?"

"Incredibly. I can only be in one place at once. There is much to do, because the old God left the world to rot. I am not like that, Dean. I am not like my Father. I care about every single person."

"Yeah, I know you do. But you can't expect to just fix everything, you know. Don't you think maybe you've taken on a bit too much?"

"No."

"...okay. I'm just saying... how long is it since God left? And you want to put it all right?"

"I am more powerful than you could possibly understand, Dean. I could blink, and you would never have been born. I could breathe, and turn all the rivers into stone."

"Probably not so good for the fish if you did that."

"Why did you pray to me, Dean?" 

"This... this isn't real, Cas."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. We're in a dream. I thought it was Crowley's, but now I can't work out if it's yours or his. And I need to sit the two of you down, and sort this all out. Because none of us are getting out of here, until everyone's all happy families again."

Dean watched as Cas' expression went from irritated and bored, to incredulous, to concerned... all in the space of a few heartbeats. "Dean... that's very disappointing."

"I know, I know. We could be in the Playboy mansion, but this ain't my subconscious, I don't think anyway. Take it up with your mind, or Crowley's."

"No, I mean this charade. I understand that you must feel insignificant, now, and you must also feel some envy or such--"

"Envy?"

Cas nodded, and there was that tired, irritated parent expression again. "You preferred me when I was not God. In fact, you preferred me when I was not a seraph, either. When I was simply an angel, and one you could control. You do not like to admit that you were wrong, and I was right. You wish for the days when you could attempt to manipulate me once more. Well, Dean, I am sorry. Those days are gone."

"This is nothing to do with anything like that! Cas, when have I ever tried to control you?"

Bright blue eyes sharpened, and Dean withered under their wrath. "You mean other than inciting my rebellion against Heaven? Or when you wanted to stop me from saving the world from Raphael?"

"We were partners, Cas! Partners!"

"To begin with, we were."

"You were the one who... look. I'm not here to fight about that. It's happened, okay? But you gotta know this ain't right. Much as I hate to be the one arguing for it, you belong with Crowley."

That actually staggered the angel-cum-God, who pulled back and up, as if he'd been punched in the chest. "No." He sounded... well. He sounded like he was denying, but not because he was convinced. It was that double-edged rejection that Dean knew meant Cas wanted to be convinced.

"Yes, Cas. You and he are pretty much soulmates, so you keep telling me. Ain't no way in Hell you'd ditch him like you have, 'less something was messing with you. I've seen it. I've seen the way not even dying kept you two apart. So if this is your version of Hell, snap out of it, okay? I know you keep telling yourself you're doing the right thing, here, but you're not. Murdering folks? That ain't 'good', Cas. You took the deal to save people, not to kill 'em. And what's inside you? It's monsters, Cas. Great, big, nasty, horrible monsters. That's what's making you act like this... and I guess you hated it so much the first time that you blanked it all out in horror..."

" _I am not a monster, Dean Winchester!_ "

"Right now? You kinda are. You dicked over Crowley? And then you went on a killing spree? How many angels did you kill, Cas? As many as Lucifer?"

"They were disloyal!"

"They're _soldiers_ , Cas! They don't understand being a general! They were made to do what they were told! Just because you're smarter than most of 'em doesn't mean you should punish and kill 'em for not being as strong as you! You ever heard of pity, Cas? Mercy?"

"They needed to be punished!"

"No, Cas. They needed you to be forgiving. And right now, you gotta wake up, or wake Crowley up. Don't it say a lot that I can't tell whose nightmare this is? Him for being abandoned by you, having a deal broken... or you for breaking his heart, and turning into a monster?"

"I..." Cas doubled over, suddenly, his hands clutching at his stomach. Dean could see that under his hands, his skin was bulging, pushing out, as if the Leviathan were trying to burst out into the world. "Dean, what's... what's happening to me?"

"It's a nightmare, Cas. It's a past that didn't happen. You hated what you did, I know. I know it made you feel shitty. What happened to all your freaking milk and cookies and whatever the Hell else you and Crowley got up to?"

"It was a mistake, Dean," Cas said, still bent over, his voice strained in pain. "He's a demon."

"Yeah, and what happened to 'it's not broken'? You knew he was a demon, but that didn't stop you falling for him. So man the Hell up, because if even I know this is wrong? Then that should tell you something, Cas."

"But..." Cas went down to one knee, groaning in obvious agony. 

It pained Dean to watch this, but he was beginning to understand whose mind he was in, now. Sure, this was shitty for Crowley, but it seemed in comparison worse for Cas. Cas had watched himself destroy his demon's faith in him, rip his deal up... and if Cas really valued Crowley's love like he was sure he did, then for Cas to see Crowley grow to hate him must be terrible. And here he was, faced with power again, doing everything wrong all over. 

"Please, Dean..." Cas begged. "Please..."

"You have to realise it's wrong, Cas. That's how I got out of this. You realise that, given the chance over, you'd never have done all those things. You'd have fixed Heaven, but you wouldn't have killed all those angels. You wouldn't have been an asshole to your boyfriend, and we'd get through it. C'mon, man. This is _not_ you."

"But you don't understand," Cas whispered. "It is me." He was beginning to sense things, like a flicker around the edges of reality. Was it the pain making him hallucinate, or had he really been in a situation like this before? "I remember... Balthazar told me to take all the souls. And I remember... I remember thinking it was a good idea. I remember thinking I could just... take it all..."

"You didn't, though. You and he worked together."

"But I was still a monster, Dean," Cas said, and it was clear now to Dean that it was Cas, and not 'God', talking. He remembered.

"No, you were... you were sick. You let evil things in you, and you tried to do good things, but you were being poisoned from the inside out. And we fixed it, Cas. You helped us take down the Leviathans. You helped save Sam. Everything you do, you do for good reasons."

"But that doesn't mean it's a good thing to do!"

"No. True. And I've done my fair share of fuck ups over the years as well, I guess. But you don't let it stop you, Cas. You get the fuck back up, and you keep trying."

"How?"

"You shake this off. C'mon, man. You push those black, oozy fucks the Hell out, and you come and fight Abaddon with me. I need you, Cas. We all need you."

Cas nodded, but he still looked pale. "I... yes. Okay. But I need... I need to speak to Crowley, first. There is something we need to discuss. But I promise, Dean, I promise... I will try."

"Okay... you do that. And then I guess I'll either see you when we wake up, or in whatever the fuck Crowley's nightmare is."

"It is not something I look forward to finding out," Cas admitted. But then he was gone.

"Good luck," Dean offered, not sure if Cas could even hear.

***

Cas appeared in Hell, in 'their' rooms, but he didn't let himself be seen straight off. He wasn't trying to spy, it was just that he wanted to brace himself for this. The pain in his gut seemed to be lessening, and he supposed that was because he was controlling this. He wasn't sure if he could 'wake up' as Dean put it, not yet, but even if he could... he had to do this, first.

Crowley summoned Cecily, and he watched the conversation silently. He winced as the younger demon laid into him, oblivious to him watching it all, and he wondered if Cecily was perhaps the manifestation of his self-loathing. No... he would probably be more negative than that. He had to smile a little at how Crowley didn't join in with the sniping, and he saw the little flicker of a quickly-hidden frown. Crowley didn't actually appreciate the way she was speaking about him, even after all the things he'd done.

Even now, deep down, the King of Hell still seemed to want to believe better things of him. Cas had literally ripped their deal to shreds, had told Crowley he was scum, had stolen everything, had told him he was just a serf... and he still wanted to believe there was hope for something else. He was under no delusions that Crowley would hide it from everyone else, but he was hurting and he was hurting badly.

Crowley deserved better than Cas, he was sure. He'd called him 'angel' like it was something special, but Cas didn't feel like the wonderful being of radiant light right now. This 'dream' had shown him just how close he'd been to ruining things, to tearing everything down and how easy it would be to justify it as the right thing to do. 

When Crowley put his elbow on the desk, dropping his head into his hand... Cas couldn't hold back any longer. He rustled the air gently to give him some warning about his presence, then put his hand on the demon's shoulder. He still jumped, and Cas rubbed carefully with his thumb.

"Oh," the demon said, looking up at him with a drawn expression that he quickly schooled into a sneer. "I'm working on the souls, boss. You don't need to micromanage me, you know."

"That is not why I am here," Cas said, and he carried on the slow, reassuring strokes. "I'm here to apologise."

"You... what?"

"I'm here to apologise," he repeated. "For any time I've let you down. For thinking less of you because you're a demon. For any time I've hurt you, or betrayed you, or disappointed you. I was wrong, Crowley. If anything, you deserve _so_ much... I admire how you can still love, even though you've been through Hell. Literally. You haven't let it break you. You're still a good person, underneath. And I love you."

That rendered Crowley speechless, and Cas felt his heart rise up into his mouth. The demon stared up at him, his eyes brimming with the tears he seemed to have been barely holding back, and Cas couldn't do it any more. He threw himself to his knees, and looked sorrowfully up. "Please... forgive me?"

"Cas. I--" Crowley was trying to speak, but he just jammed up, and it was horrible. 

What if he couldn't? What if he couldn't forgive him? Castiel had forgiven none of the other angels, why should he deserve something he had not shown himself? This was a mistake... he put one foot back on the ground, ready to push up and fly away... but Crowley grabbed hold of his coat before he could go.

"You bloody fool," the demon said, but his voice was croaking and faltering, like Cas felt his heart was. "Of course I forgive you. How could I not?"

Cas felt the tears fall down his cheeks, and he could not remember the last time it had happened. But it was such a relief, such a weight off his chest, that he burst out a laugh that was more agony than anything else. "I'm sorry," he repeated, and he grabbed hold of Crowley's face, between his hands. "I love you. I always have."

Before the dream had a chance to fade, Cas pulled him in for one more kiss.

 _I will find you_ , he promised himself. _And I will save you_.


	23. Chapter 23

Dean sat up with a rush, and he was surprised to find himself somewhere in a half-dead forest. It was dim and sort of... dank. He couldn't see the sun, but the world was lit through the haze in the sky.

"Is this--?"

"I believe we are in Crowley's dream," Cas said. "I appear to remember everything - or I think I remember everything - and it does not feel like there are Leviathans in me currently."

"We're also in some fucked up forest, Cas. Unless I'm mistaken, this looks like..."

The angel shook his head, sadly. "Purgatory."

Dean felt his stomach sink. "That dick's sent us here?"

"I suppose it could be worse," Cas said. "And it is interesting that he has put us here together. Out of the way."

"Uhm, paging Doctor Freud much?"

Cas tilted his head at that, and Dean shrugged it off.

So. Purgatory. That meant this memory-dream was further on again. Which meant... no Bobby. That hurt more than he'd been prepared for, really. He'd not had a chance to say goodbye, but then he'd also not wanted to upset the dream-Bobby with the news of his impending death. Also it meant he had no idea how in the Hell they got out, because last time around they'd had to use a Reaper from the outside. Would Sam even know? Would Sam even care?

"Well, let's focus on the positives," Dean said. "Least we don't have to deal with crazy Cas, either. Have to say, I prefer normal Cas."

"I prefer him, as well. I suspect that is why my nightmare consisted of me being... increasingly less 'me'. It is a time of my existence I am least proud of, and that version was even worse than the reality." Cas looked pale. "I... Dean... I _did things_."

"No, Cas. Well. Yes. You did do 'em, but you had that poison filth inside you. And you gave it up, when it mattered. You stopped."

The angel nodded slowly, seeming to accept his words, even if he didn't seem to agree just yet.

"So, when you left, how'd you wake up?" Dean asked, brushing himself down. There didn't seem to be anything around hunting them, but he still patted his clothing for weapons, reassuring himself they were still there. 

"I went to see Crowley, and I apologised. I believe he forgave me. I think... I think I needed to know he would forgive me, even if the actions were not real, before I could 'move on' as it were." Then the angel tilted his head to one side. "How did you wake from your nightmare?"

"Well... it was 2014. Kind of like that time Zach messed with me, but worse. Sam went and let Lucifer in--"

"...and we all went to kill him with the First Blade. It... it is coming back to me, now. But then you and Lucifer vanished, as I was trying to kill him and Abaddon."

"Yeah, well... we talked. Or: Lucifer was an ass, and then I figured... I figured Sam wouldn't say yes. And I figured it was my worst nightmare come true, all over again." Dean swallowed, and looked away briefly, before he looked back at Cas. "And it was you, Crowley and Cecily there, at the end. I don't know how much of it was you making the choice to be there..."

Cas shook his head. "Dean... I remember. I thought it was reality, I truly did. I was there because I wanted to be."

"Uh. So. Even after all that shit we pulled on you, you were still prepared to talk to me. And I realised... it's not just me and Sammy, is it? It's me, Sammy, Kevin, Linda, Charlie... even that dick of a demon of yours. It's not the same. Not any more."

"You... you realised that?"

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, avoiding his eyes. It sounded way heavier when he said it aloud, and he didn't like the way it made him feel. "Yeah. It sort of... put things into perspective. Look - I'm sorry I've been an asshole."

"It's okay, Dean. I have been an asshole, too."

"Yeah. I guess we all have." But that's what family did, Dean guessed. It fucked up, but it forgave you, and it tried to move on. And his family... well. It had been Dad and Sammy and Bobby for such a long time that now it was bigger, it was kind of terrifying but good all at once.

Cas seemed hesitant, and Dean watched as he pushed the next thing out. "It is not me you need to apologise to, though. Not really."

Dean's teeth ground together, and he grunted non-committally. 

"Dean..."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. If this is the King of Hell's worst nightmare, we gotta go do the Oprah routine on his ass next. And yes, I know I have to be nice to him. It's... it's probably why I came in after you both, anyway. I guess... I am sorta responsible for most of this."

"I am sure if you get us all out safely, then we can consider this 'even'. So, do the other people in the dream know it is a dream? Did Sam come in also, or did you instruct him not to?"

"Well, I told him no, but you know what we're like."

Cas smiled sadly. "I do. Hopefully we have a little longer before we have another soul to rescue. And if there is a way to intervene from the outside world, your brother will find it."

Dean nodded in agreement. "And last time around I spoke to Crowley, but that didn't seem to cause any problems. Bobby knew about the dream, too, because how else could I explain leaving Sam in a coma?"

"You... left Sam?"

"It wasn't really Sam." But even as he said it, Dean realised that, too, meant a lot. He'd been convinced by the end that the world around him wasn't real, and for once... he'd not felt this burning terror about what might have been Sam. Sure, he still cared for him. Sure, he still wanted to look out for him. But it... it was... different, now. This freaky dreamscape really was doing a number on him. He thought it was probably for the better, but he was going to reserve judgement for now.

"...I am still... touched."

"Well, park that happy-clappy feeling for now. We got work to do."

"How should we handle this?" Cas asked, and Dean was glad he seemed okay with leaving the touchy-feely stuff behind.

"First we gotta get out of this pit," Dean said. "And that ain't gonna be easy."

"No," Cas agreed, "...but I do have some idea of a potential escape route."

"And then there's Prince Charming's personal Azkaban to consider. You know him better than me. What's his version of Hell gonna be? I mean, he's literally been _through_ it, so..."

Cas ran his tongue over his lips, deep in thought. "I suspect he will not remember that I did not reject him in reality, or that I apologised the last time. But after that, I am not sure. I know he values love, respect, order and integrity, but I... did not really want to pry into the things he was most afraid of. It seemed... impolite."

"No, I guess you're right. So... no clown phobia? Cool. I guess if we see a giant red nose, we'll know Sammy came in, too."

"I am unsure why that is the case, though, Dean. Why is Sam so afraid of clowns?"

"I think that's a question you need to ask him, not me." Even if he did know. It wasn't something he was going to share, because that was Sammy's choice at the end of the day. "Alright," he said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them briskly. "You said you know a way out of here?"

"Yes. When I was trapped with Crowley, we met a Vampire who told us of a portal out, that had been left for a human. We did not try to go through it because it reacted badly to Crowley's presence - and possibly mine - but you should be fine. And if necessary, you can go out alone and find April to come back for me."

"I don't really wanna leave you here, Cas."

"If it's the only way, then it's what you'll have to do. I am... I am not a child, Dean. I may make mistakes, but I am still an angel, and I am still good at surviving." A wry little smile. "Even death."

"Alright, but it's your funeral. Which way do we go?"

"I am unsure, but if we find a big enough landmark, I should be able to navigate us to the portal."

Dean closed his eyes and spun on his heels. He came to a stop, and then nodded. "That way."

"Remember," Cas told him, "...there are still monsters here. Though if we encounter Benny - the Vampire - I will tell you. He is a good person, Dean. He is not a monster. Not really."

"I'll take your word for it, man." 

***

So now he had a Prophet - no - _the_ Prophet. Said Prophet was pleasingly not drawn from the WASPs, or the ubiquitous Mormons, or even the even louder born-again brigade. Nope, the Lord had flown counter to the popular image of 'God and Jesus were white dudes' and gone for someone of the minority-type. Much as Crowley was no real fan of God as a person, but appreciated some of his work, he had to hand it to him that the sudden diversification was a welcome change. No doubt there was a huge part of his flock that wouldn't have looked twice at young Kevin Tran if he said a cheery hello to them in the street, beautiful, caring types that they were. The whole point of the parable about the rank outsider the Samaritan had utterly passed them by.

Course, he was still a little tetchy: the precocious brat had been given the run around by first angels, then Leviathans and now demons. He must be burnt out on supernatural and paranormal entities, but Crowley had to admit, it had been a stroke of genius to take him when the Moose was still mourning the loss of his rodent of a brother. The demon had snatched him right up, brought him back to base camp, and he intended to work him for everything he could. 

Like, for instance, the Word of God. He knew, like everyone did, that God had been strangely silent for the longest of times, now, so this was as close to divine revelation as anyone was going to get. There was power on that tablet, and God (hah) only knew what else a Prophet would be good for. A nice talking point at dinner parties, if nothing else, and also anything he could steal away from the Winchesters was worth taking, even if it ended up cluttering the pit. Petty, but he was a demon, wasn't he? 

Yes, he was. And not just any demon, either, but the goddamn King of Hell. A King who had weathered archangels and would-be-Gods and Leviathans and he was still standing, and they were not. They were in Purgatory, and as the place had been almost impossible to open from this side, he couldn't imagine they would get back to reality any time soon. Which was fine. A house divided, blah, blah, blah. Dean had always been the ringleader, the impetus, even if Sam was the brains. So without the pack leader, the pack would crumble. And that bothersome, ridiculous angel was also gone, too.

Which was good.

Yes.

The world was his, now. All of it. There was no one left to get in his way, and anyone who did try to?

Well. They wouldn't get far, now, would they?


	24. Chapter 24

"I'm not going to work for you, so you might as well give up now," the Prophet told him. 

"Oh, you will, little Tran, you will," Crowley said, examining his nails and using a rather impressive-looking knife to clean underneath them. It was actually silver, and there were incredibly strong enchantments both on the handle and concealed inside on the tang, and to be frank the blade was rather ridiculously expensive and powerful. Crowley didn't _need_ something as powerful as this to hurt a human, of course, so it was a bit of overkill when he could have just whipped out a dollar store pocket knife... but it was the _principle_. **This** knife was intimidating. Whoever had designed it - and Crowley rather suspected Templar hands had been involved - had really known their stuff. The blade itself was sharp and gently curved, but when you got close to the hilt there were serrations for more damage on a deep stab wound. The hilt was perfectly shaped, though running with popular prejudice it wasn't built for sinister use, only a right-handed grip. The knife also had just the perfect balance, so when he tossed it up and caught it again, there was never any risk of it wandering and snicking through a finger. Maybe it wasn't quite as showy as a butterfly knife, but this would do infinitely more harm.

It was the little things that mattered. Things like doing a job well. Things like seeing it through to the bitter end, if at all possible. Crowley knew that. He sent the knife up with a measured throw, and caught the blade flat between finger and thumb, looking over his desk to where his little visitor stood. There was a chair right beside him, but Crowley wasn't going to let him sit down, now. No, not when he could make him feel uncomfortable standing, like a naughty child in the Principal's office. He stared straight at Kevin, unblinking, and was both pleased and irritated when the little sod stared right back. He had cojones, then. 

For a long moment, it was simply the cobra and the rabbit, in the moment before the predator surely struck. Crowley smiled, and pushed the knife into the desk loudly. It was not subtle, but he didn't want to be subtle. Kevin winced when he did it, but he still didn't waver.

"You're going to translate the tablet for me, little Cipher. Or I'm going to give you a taste of what people normally get ten years of paradise for."

"Go to Hell."

Crowley chuckled, and waved around at the office. "Already did, ended up King. Now you're going to translate it for me, or things are going to get very, very unpleasant for you. You do realise that all you _actually_ need to do this are your vital organs, one eye, and either one finger and thumb on your dominant hand, or your tongue?"

That caught his attention, and Crowley noticed how his pupils suddenly blew wide in fear. He tried to control his reaction, but the twitching around his jaw was all too telling. Really, it was unfair of him to do this, because Crowley had hundreds of years of experience with this, and he'd interrogated and tortured some of the most impressive of monsters you ever could meet. The challenge would be keeping him alive and conscious, and capable of working on the translation, really.

"I'm not going to help you."

A slow, slow nod. Crowley pulled the knife out of his (mahogany) desk, vowing to fix it later when this was all over with. He pushed to his feet, and paced slowly around behind Kevin. The young man lifted his chin defiantly, and just as Crowley was about to speak, he grabbed hold of something from the desk, trying to spin around and hit the demon with it.

The King easily held up his left hand, and the book smacked him square in the palm. Kevin had swung with all his strength, and when his attack landed it was powerful enough that the reverberations travelled up through his bound wrists and made him yelp in pain. Probably wasn't broken, so much as sprained, but the self-inflicted pain would serve the little shit right.

Crowley tutted at him. "You do realise hurting you is _my_ job? But if you want to flap your wings a bit and pluck your feathers first, by all means save me a job."

Kevin had dropped the book, and with his hands pulled in against his stomach, he was hissing and backing away again. "You won't get away with this, you know."

"Won't I? Oh, my boy. You've been watching too many romanticised movies, haven't you?" Crowley twisted the knife, and pushed it up against his throat. Kevin went to lift his head again to escape the bite, but Crowley just kept pushing until the boy realised he'd never get free from it. "You think someone's going to come and rescue you, do you? Or that maybe you can convince one of your captors to see the error of their ways and join you in taking me down? You planning a little coup of Hell?"

Kevin didn't answer, but his eyes said all Crowley needed to know.

"I've got news for you, Kevvie: no one is coming. Dean Winchester and his fallen fairy are kaput, and Sam's given up the ghost. There is no one. No one even knows I have you, who still cares."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" Crowley pushed harder, almost enough to break the skin. "Did you tell anyone else about your vocation? Your calling in life? Well... there's your mother. I know precisely where she lives."

Another reaction. God, this kid was as easy to play as Chopsticks. 

"If you don't co-operate..." he twisted the knife, so only the very tip of the blade made contact, right in the soft, underside of his craw... stroking gradually down over the curve of his throat, "...I'll be forced to call a Parent-Teacher meeting with her. Do you want that, Kevin? Do you want her to know what a naughty little boy you've been?"

That made him shake his head firmly no, even with the knife right there.

"Good. Now. Be a good little Prophet and do me some translations, understand? This doesn't have to be any more painful than it already is."

Well, not to begin with. Maybe if he got bored, though. It had been a while since he'd made anyone scream in terror. He sort of missed it.

***

"So... you remember everything from before we got in here, right?" Dean asked. Even though they were technically asleep, he was still tired. He wasn't quite sure what happened if you slept inside of a dream, because he didn't remember any 'dreams' when he woke up, so that was concerning in and of itself. They were sitting up a tree, and Dean was resisting Morpheus until he had no choice.

"I believe so. Any gaps in my memory are completely missing. I am unaware of anything I do not know."

"That's... right. Great." Why the angel had to be so freaking _literal_ all the damn time. Sometimes Dean wondered if Cas' sense of humour was, in fact, better than anyone had ever suspected, and he was secretly laughing at them all along when he played dumb. 

"Why do you ask?"

"We never really got a chance to talk about the Mark."

Cas looked down at his arm. Here - in this unreal past - there was nothing on his arm, but he could still sort of feel it on the edges of his consciousness, like the impression of a heavy weight lingering after the item in question had been removed, or the pins and needles when blood finally pushed back into somewhere long-deprived. "No. We have not had a chance to talk about a number of things."

"You... mind me asking?"

The angel shook his head no, then dropped his arm back into his lap. "I do not."

"I get why you did it, but..."

"Do not ask me 'why', Dean. You would do the same for Sam."

The Hunter nodded very slowly. "Fine. I know 'why'. But... you really think you can handle it?"

"Is this because of what happened with the souls?"

He might as well do this properly if he was doing it. "Uh, try also the thing with the murdering of brother, the whole 'first demon' thing?"

Cas looked like he'd grown an extra head for a moment, before the light of understanding went on in his eyes. "Cain."

"Yes, Cain. You know, Mr. Asshole Brother Year Zero."

"Actually, the year was much higher if you use the Julian or Gregorian--"

"Dude, I wasn't trying for a set timeline, and you're avoiding the question."

He watched as the angel slumped a little, and he could all but hear the cogs whirling around. "Cain is a demon, yes. He did a horrible thing. But even if he killed Abel for the wrong reasons - and I do not know for certain that he did - doesn't he deserve a second chance? He slew the other Knights. He renounced evil, and murder, and sin. He wanted another life, another chance. Even when Abaddon killed his wife, he did not avenge her, because she would not approve."

"See? Even Cain thinks revenge is a bad idea." Dean didn't want to say these things, but if he didn't... who would? "I'm not saying she doesn't deserve to die, and if the Blade is really the only way then we got no choice, I'm just saying... that's some pretty dark shit you got going on, there. And... and none of us want to lose you to it again."

Cas actually smiled at him for that, and Dean realised how rare such an expression was on Cas' face. It actually lit it up, and he looked... more human than angel, for once. "I will try not to 'fall' for it. I have Crowley, and I... have you and Sam. I have every reason to fight for this, Dean. I may... I may not have managed to defeat the darkness immediately in the past, but you have seen that I am not... I am not deaf to reason. Crowley and I expelled the majority of the souls in reality, and in the dream I was able to see past the 'Leviathans' within me. I... am stronger, now. I am stronger with Crowley, but I am stronger still if you and Sam are with me, too."

"I'm starting to see that. It's... it's just been difficult, you know? When you're a Hunter, you're pretty much surrounded by death from the start. When we lost Mom, it was just the first in a long line of losses. And you try and tell yourself that it's all for the greater good, and they lived a good life, and you try to move on, but... it hurts, Cas. It hurts when you lose someone. So you try to stop caring, you try to limit the amount of people who can hurt you, or you... or you'd be paralysed by it."

"Caring is not a weakness, Dean. Sadness is not, either. Is there not a saying about love and loss?"

"Yeah, but..."

"But what, Dean? Would you rather a life without love, just so there is no pain? Are you going to refuse to like someone because you will eventually lose them? You cannot keep anyone forever - not in the mortal realm - but to resign yourself to a life without any meaningful connections at all seems to me to be a life I would not enjoy living."

Dean laughed. "Seriously? You're giving me a lecture on having friends? Castiel?"

"I do not see anyone else around to do it."

"Right... yeah. Okay. Losing everyone in that stupid nightmare was awful, I know. It really fucking hurt, okay? But... I didn't regret knowing them. Not one bit. So... I guess what I'm trying to say is..." he trailed off, not sure how to go on.

"I know," the angel said, putting his hand on his knee. "You're my family, too, Dean. And I'm glad you are."


	25. Chapter 25

Pain had some effect, but not nearly enough. That was okay, really. It wasn't everyone's breaking point, Crowley knew from experience. First-hand experience, too. He'd gotten a little headway by use of various implements, and Kevin bore hidden marks and the odd visible one from knives, fists and toecaps. He was also reasonably resilient against stress positions, though he'd been in something of a state when Crowley 'forgot' he'd left him stretched out from his wrists and the hooks that curled under his armpits for a very long stretch. 

But Crowley was bored of it, now. He was bored of having to wait, and he wanted something new to get his teeth into. Without the threat of Lucifer, or Raphael, or Godstiel, or the Winchesters... life was pretty samey.

Day in, day out... it was monotonous. Torture. Sales projections. Torture. Lists of transgressors and potential promotions. Torture. Daytime TV. Torture. Inter-departmental politics. Torture. Dinner. Torture. Okay, perhaps there wasn't as much torture as all that, but when there wasn't torture, there was Craig. And he found he was drinking more and more of the stuff, because there was so much _time_ and so very little to _do_ in the time, that he had to fill it somehow. But even the drinking wasn't helping, because it barely touched the sides on the way down. He was dimly aware of the burn, the smell, the taste... but it was like he was half there, in a way. It was strange and disorientating. 

So. This was all part of Operation Be More Interesting, Prophet. There was probably another six months maximum enjoyment he could derive from this, and that was being generous. If he paced himself. If he didn't go all out. And then he would have to find something else to do, some other big project to work on. After all, just because you hit the top of your game didn't mean the world suddenly lost all interest, right? Just because you excelled in your field and were left with no more ladders to climb, no more hurdles, no more ankles to nip at... no.

Being King was not boring. It had its own challenges, and its own rewards, and he was not at all stagnating, not ever.

Crowley put his hand on Linda Tran's shoulder, reassuringly. "We're almost there," he told her, as he prepared the blip back to Hell. "Just a little bit further."

It was cruel to bait her like that, and that made him smile. Kevin was strapped down to a chair, currently, with a gag shoved deep into his mouth. Crowley had _almost_ cut his tongue out, but he'd decided that he wanted to hear the little whelp scream a bit more, first. He was currently trying to, under the gag, and his eyes were all but rolling in his head. 

"Kevin?" she asked, spinning around to face him. She went from standing stock-still to trying to charge over to her little cub in a fraction of a second, but the King simply curled his fingers around her forearm to check her momentum. 

"Ah-ah," he said, chidingly. "What did we discuss?"

Linda glowered up at him, her jaw set in a firm line and her eyes flashing with maternal fury. Honestly, if he'd had a heart, it might even have warmed it. But he didn't. He didn't have a heart at all. This was just another day at the office, really. 

"You _monster_ , what have you done to him?"

"Nothing your government doesn't sanction. Unless... nope. Fairly sure they do that in Guantanamo, too."

She pulled back her other hand and slapped him square across the face. He could have stopped her, but he didn't feel like it. It wasn't as if she could do him any real harm, and the futility of resistance needed to be fully demonstrated. Not to mention... well. Sometimes he liked a bit of slap with his tickle. 

"Oh, that's where he gets it from," Crowley said, his smile going shark-feral. "Lovely. It means you'll be able to take more of a beating, just to make sure he cracks. If you cave too soon it's no fun for me." He was convinced that the mother was the key. Pain, isolation and self-doubt hadn't really cracked the surface of the Tran, just left an artistically distressed spider web to the shiny patina of varnish. 

"Kevin, don't you tell him anything," she insisted, as he knew she would. "Don't you _dare_."

"Good! Keep telling him that. It will make it even more satisfying when he breaks."

She went to hit him again, but that was quite enough. Clearly she had not learned that lesson yet, so Crowley grabbed hold of her hand with his free one, and curled his fingers around her fist. Eyes on hers, he squeezed and squeezed, slow and steady, until he could feel the tendons and the bones creak and groan in protest underneath his grasp. Pain flashed in her eyes, pain and anger and then that little, perfect thrill of fear. It was good. It was good to see fear. People had grown too lax around him, too complaisant. He was the **King of Hell** , and he was supposed to strike fear and respect into their hearts and minds. He was supposed to saunter past them and feel their envy and their appreciation. He was supposed to feel...

Linda Tran spat in his face. He blinked at her, and then slammed her face-first into the table in the middle of the room. One arm twisted up behind her back, pushing it between her shoulder blades. She arched up onto the balls of her feet in pain, and he pressed in against her thighs.

He had no intention of ravishing her, not really. That wasn't sex, and it wasn't sexy. Didn't mean he wouldn't give them the impression it was possibly on the cards, though, and the way she went as stiff as a plank under him, and Kevin's gagged screams went almost supersonic was worth the ridiculous implication. 

"So. How are we going to start, Kevin? Do you think I should do the same to your mommy as I did to you? Or should I try something new? Maybe get out a nice cat o' nine tails? A scourge? Or try bastinado? What about you, Mrs. Tran? Is there anything Mr. Tran didn't do enough to satisfy you?"

"I'm going to kill you," she hissed. "I'm going to kill you."

"Now, now. If your son here would just do what God had made him to do, for a change, you'd still be at home watching Jeopardy right now, instead of stuck in my play rooms. Not to worry, though, time moves differently here. I can keep you here for decades before anyone even realises you've gone, did you know?"

She stopped struggling then, probably because the reality of it had gotten through to her. 

Good.

It was... it was better. Being feared and loathed. 

It meant someone noticed he was there.

***

It was only four of them this time. Cas wondered if they were diminishing the population significantly as they went through, or if every one they killed came back, but learned that going after the tasty-smelling human and his angelic companion was a painful way to pass the eternal afterlife. He'd actually thought that Crowley's hatred of them - right now - would have resulted in insurmountable numbers of assailants, but then this was Crowley's _Hell_ and not his _Heaven_. Not to mention his underlying feelings for Castiel probably had him in some kind of perpetually swinging love-hate, love-hate, meaning he couldn't work out if he wanted Cas dead or not.

Cas ripped the head clean off the Vampire in front of him, using the momentum of his swing to throw the severed head at the last one mobbing Dean. He heard a sharp laugh at that, as Dean used the surprise to get the angel blade right in the thing's gut, before promptly severing its head with the giant cleaver they'd found.

"That," Dean said, wiping the weapon over the Vampire's shirt... not that it cleaned it, just removed the worst of the blood, "...was freaking awesome, Cas."

The angel smiled. "I am a soldier, do not forget. Even without the Mark, I was created to be a fighter. And I have been in this place before."

"I remember... last time you came here right after being out of your gourd, too."

It was not the most polite of ways to phrase it, but Cas knew it wasn't meant offensively. It was just how Dean spoke. The man did call his brother 'bitch' as a term of affection, after all. "Yes. The damage from Sam's time in the Cage."

"Did killing a buttload of monsters to stay alive cure your sudden attack of the Ghandis?"

"That and... being back with Crowley. I had convinced myself that it was a bad idea for us to be together, because I was... so damaged. But Crowley would not leave me, even broken as I was. I still felt... I still felt somewhat 'wrong', until..." he squinted, running through the memories. "Until the angel tablet, in fact. I suspect the magic in it was restorative. Although the effects did not last for long." He smiled wryly at that, even though - again - it was all his own doing.

Dean laughed, tucking the angel blade back up his sleeve. "Sorry, man. I know it's not right, but the thought of anyone thinking they're not good enough for the King of Hell..."

Cas return the smile, but it was a touch on the sad side. "Yes, I appreciate the irony inherent in that. But I think you know, too, that he is more than just a demon."

"Yeah. I guess so."

"When we were here, I told you we met a Vampire?"

The Hunter nodded. "One that showed you the way out we're trying to find?"

"His name was Benny. Before he died, he had given up feeding on people, Dean. He had been turned into a Vampire against his own will, become a 'monster', but he had chosen to try living a good life. When we got out of Purgatory, I returned him to his bones. I believe he - in the real world - is trying his best to fit in."

"We've found a few, over the years. Not many, I have to say, but there is some that don't want trouble. Either 'cause they like their heads attached to their body, or... or I guess some of 'em still know right from wrong."

"Lucifer is still an angel, Dean. And you have seen what atrocities angels are capable of, even when they think they are doing His work. Myself included in that number. If an angel can create Hell, and a Vampire can live like a human, then why couldn't a demon choose to be... good?"

Cas watched as Dean thought about that, and thought about it hard. It was not an easy question, because it was one Cas had wrestled with for a long time, too.

"I guess it boils down to what 'good' really is, Cas."

"Do you have the answer?"

Dean shrugged. "Once upon a time, I would've said I did. But now... now I don't know. I guess... trying not to do bad things. Trying to do good things."

"Mercy, compassion, selflessness... it is easier to say the bad things you should not do, than the good things you should. Because how is any good deed selfless, if you hope it will earn you redemption, forgiveness, paradise?"

"So you're saying only people who don't think they're gonna go to Heaven can do good things?" Dean looked utterly baffled by that.

"No... I don't know what I'm saying. I suppose I am saying that I do not truly understand. I only understand that I must try to do what I think and feel is right, and hope it is enough."

"When did you get all zen?"

"Sometime around my... second death?" Cas said with a little smile. "I suppose He will keep bringing me back until I work it all out. Or maybe you can't even ever work it out, or you really _are_ God."

"So... you reckon He's still up there, watching?"

"I honestly do not know for sure, but something brought me back. Some power, and it was not an angel, and it was not the King of Hell, either. I thought at one point that they were punishments for my transgressions, but... no. Not now."

"When we get out of here... we're all going to have to... I dunno. What is it normal people do? Get out a barbeque and beers and... and the whole hog."

Cas blinked in surprise. "You... would like that?"

"Why not? I mean, we all pretty much save the world every Tuesday, shouldn't we have a night off? You, Crowley, Cecily, Balthazar, April, Kevin, Linda, Charlie... maybe invite some other Hunters, too, if they know to keep the peace. Maybe we could get a poker game going. Or... or... sports."

"You mean watching, I assume, because if we played a sport then it would be grossly misbalanced." 

Clearly the thought of a Hunters vs Hunted game of baseball or hockey was hilarious, because Dean almost choked. "Just... no. Okay. No. Cas... you can't go saying shit like that!"

"I am sorry," the angel said with a delicate smile. "In future I will simply allow you to be decimated on the field of... competitive sporting activities."

"Cut out the sass, buddy boy. We gotta get home, first."

"And then... then we have to convince Crowley that this is not real." Cas licked his lips. It was not something he was looking forwards to, because he remembered how real his own nightmare had felt. He remembered thinking the horrible world around him was his birthright, was what he was due. 

Cas couldn't help but think that Crowley keeping Dean and himself together, and away from him... said a lot about his mindset. And he was beginning to suspect that the world outside was going to be even worse than Purgatory. And that was not a pretty prospect in the slightest.


	26. Chapter 26

"What do you mean, nothing?"

"I'm sorry, Sir," Cecily said, cringing back a little, holding her buff, manilla folder in front of her chest like a shield. It was ridiculous, because if he wanted to do anything to her then a collection of neatly organised notes in very fitting stationery were not going to be any kind of protection whatsoever. "We've been through the translations ten times... there's nothing we can use. Not with the Leviathans all dead or gone, now. A-and... and the notes all say the same thing, th-that they're dangerous, and they're uncontrollable, and that's... that's why they got sent to Purgatory. To keep everyone safe."

The stutter was new. Once upon a time Cecily had been a bright, bold, vivacious young demon. She'd shown great promise and initiative, and he'd looked forward to nurturing her into a force to really be reckoned with. Right now, the demon in front of him looked like a cowed pawn, like any other minion, bowing and scraping and stammering through her report. The difference was startling and unsettling.

Why was she so afraid? Was she afraid of him? If so, he should take that as flattering. The King of Hell wasn't supposed to be anyone's _friend_. He was their ruler, and a little heart-chilling terror was good for the smoke. It kept the wheels of the machine running smoothly, and it showed he was doing his job right. Of course, some might consider such a vaunted position to be lonely, when you were the only one on your level. No one to talk to, to confide in. No one to offer advice or support, but what demon had that? Hell was filled with liars, cheats, backstabbers, murderers... anyone you spoke to would file away all your weaknesses to exploit later. You could use them, but you could never _rely_ on them. 

"So you're telling me that what we have is a collection of useless information about a monster that's already back in Purgatory, we have a broken Prophet of the Lord - plus maternal unit - and... nothing worth the effort we've put in?" he asked.

Cecily cringed back down, unwilling to answer the question and risk his ire. 

He'd known, on some level, that it was a losing battle. It was a tablet all about Leviathans, of course. Why would there be anything on there? It wasn't as if God Almighty in His infinite wisdom would somehow get an angel to write down the key to eternal contentment and happiness in the margins of a work about a monster he fucked up making, was it? Still, he couldn't help but feel slightly cheated, because this was the closest he'd ever got to understanding... what? God?

Demon, Crowley, demon. Sort of there in the job title, or the species name. He was supposed to represent everything that was anathema to God, he was - no pun intended - the antithesis. He'd had his chance, and he'd made his decisions, and he was happy. He was. He was completely content with being a demon - _the_ demon - and he would keep repeating it to himself until he remembered. Of course he was still reaching, still looking for more... complacency and lethargy had no place in his heart, but this? This was fine.

Everything was fine.

Eventually, Cecily nodded. She couldn't even formulate words. Disgusted by her toadying, cowering behaviour, he waved her off with a lax flick of his wrist. She scurried out with a burbled apology, but he wasn't even listening.

It should be enough. If nothing else, the torture should have made him smile. The endless screaming and begging, the wide-open fear in the Trans' eyes. Demons were supposed to enjoy inflicting pain, it was part of the very make-up. It was how a soul was finally broken, after all. First the untold horrors wrought upon you, then the baton passed into your hand - metaphorically and literally - and you tortured souls yourself. It was the circle of the afterlife, complete with rousing and memorable song, scored especially and available on the soundtrack to your immortal afterlife. 

It wasn't, and with Cecily gone, he could reflect upon that.

Crowley didn't remember pouring out the glass in front of him, but that was the case a lot of the time, now. He did things on auto-pilot, and found himself staring into nothing for long stretches. Each day seemed to blend into the next, so sometimes he couldn't remember what time it was because he couldn't work out if his memories were from that day, or the one before, or the one before... with nothing to look forwards to, it was difficult to even motivate himself.

Much as he hated to admit it, you needed an antagonist. You needed a nemesis, or at the very least a pain in the ass, or the world just became... dull. He'd settle even for something to work towards, without it being end-of-the-world type peril. Maybe some little goal he could edge towards, the hint of a possibility that he might not make it, or the uncertainty as to when... but what did you give a demon who had everything?

In the back of his mind there was the niggling thought that he knew precisely what was needed, and what had caused this sudden funk. It was those cursed brothers and the faithless angel, and to deny it would be foolish of him. 

At least when they'd been around, life had been interesting. Wasn't that the Chinese curse? 'May you live in interesting times'? Crowley wasn't sure it was all that much of a curse, really. Interesting meant you had a reason to get up. Interesting meant your mind kept ticking over. There was only so much trite television programming he could watch, and only so many times you could read a book, and only so many times you could enjoy a chateaubriand with nice Grand Cru before it tasted just the same as a Big Mac with a diet Coke. 

It was _not_ that he missed the angel's company. He'd been an asshole of a partner to Crowley. Sure, he'd never said 'no', or demanded things change for the better, or even had a rational discussion about what did and did not work... but it hadn't been a real relationship, because demons did not have those. It had been a bit of mindless bump and grind, it had scratched an itch and it had served to keep him in line... for a little while. But Cas had always - always - looked down his nose at Crowley, just because he was a demon. He'd judged him, even though he needed his help, and even though he enjoyed their little _liaison dangereuse_. He was a hypocrite of the highest order, because Crowley had been prepared to follow through on their deal, and Cas? Well. Cas took all the souls and ran.

Look how well it had turned out for him, though. Karma was one Hell of a bitch.

Would it have been different? If Cas hadn't betrayed him? What would have happened then? Crowley wasn't sure how he'd have handled the Leviathans any other way, but hindsight was a strange thing to have. There was no point dealing in what-ifs, though, because what had happened... had happened. You had to accept it and move on, or you'd be forever crippled by the past.

And now the bloody dickhead was off with Dean in Purgatory anyway, where he belonged. He'd never been one hundred percent on Team Crowley, which he'd understood, but his loyalty to that selfish asshole who wanted him as nothing more than a weapon was ridiculous. It was all the same with Dean, it was all about... well. Dean. Sam existed to make Dean feel better about having someone depend on him, and Cas existed to make sure Sam continued to exist and Dean could get places faster and survive against different antagonists. Cas hadn't seen that Dean just wanted to use him, maybe because they'd Stockholmed together or something, and they deserved one another. He hoped that Dick Roman was ripping them slowly apart right this minute.

What was really galling was that since their breakup, Crowley just hadn't... hadn't been interested in anyone else. He'd tried a couple of times to screw some random demon, or even human, but his heart just wasn't in it. The first time he'd sort of freaked out a little bit, because he'd never had... well. Performance anxiety? Was that even the right term? He'd freaked out, but he'd laughed it off, and he'd pretended it had been his plan all along.

After that, it was then a Thing. It was a Thing, whether he wanted it to be or not. He wined and dined a few more warm bodies, but they failed to incite that kindling heat in his loins, and it ended rather formally and cordially with a mutually unsatisfying parting. And now? Now he didn't even want to try the first steps, because it simply made him even more disheartened to know what was likely to happen by the end of the evening.

For fuck's sake (hah), he couldn't even jerk off successfully. He'd tried countless times. He'd tried watching porn, he'd tried tingling lubricants, he'd tried lying on his hand first so it felt like someone else... he'd tried imagining Cas, against his better judgement, but even thoughts of potential make-up sex hadn't been enough. He'd played out scenarios where Cas came grovelling back and Crowley took his pound of flesh from the angel first. He'd imagined very intense discussions, which then turned into very heated kisses, and a hard, brutal fuck up against the wall. He'd even tried imagining just _beating_ Cas, torturing him, taking out his pent-up aggression... but little Crowley Junior was having none of that, and his dick remained sadly... flaccid.

He glared down at his own crotch, the glass of Craig in his hand.

"You know, you can't pine after him forever, you idiot," he told his dick. "Fergus Roderick McLeod sold his soul for an extra three inches of Mr Floppy?"

His dick did not reply.

Crowley drained the glass. It almost tasted like water.

***

"There it is," Cas said, nodding at the glow just across the clearing. "Benny said it was an emergency exit, one left here in case any human accidentally ended up in here."

"You gotta wonder why God would make an emergency exit in the first place? Why not make it so no one got here who didn't deserve to be?"

"We could debate the deeper, mysterious workings of my Father for a thousand years and not come to any satisfactory answer," Cas replied. "He made it in case someone got stuck in here, and here you are... stuck in here."

Dean chewed his lip, thinking it through. "You reckon this was part of the plan, then? Me in here, with you? In a world that ain't even real?"

"Honestly, Dean, I no longer think it is possible for anyone but God Himself to understand how His mind works. As soon as you start asking too many questions, or wondering about too many things... it becomes apparent that either He has 'fouled things up' very severely, or He has some incredibly convoluted game plan underpinning everything. Then there's the question of if omnipotence renders free will impossible or not. Theologians have debated this for a very long time."

"You ever see Him, you tell Him he sure as fuck should have left a better instruction manual, will you?"

The angel had to smile at that. "I will." Then he turned back to the glow in the distance. "Are you ready to try?"

"Yeah, I'm ready. Are you?"

Cas nodded. "Remember, if I cannot make it through the portal, you must go through alone and find April."

"I just gotta pray to Balthazar, Cas. Won't be too hard."

Ah, yes. Cas studiously ignored Dean's eyes when he carried on, his voice all too level. "That will depend if this reality contains elements of the last or not. I am unsure if it will."

"...what did you do?"

"I... I killed Balthazar, in my dream. He had betrayed me, he had given my location to you. I had - I believed I had - no choice in the matter." Cas forced himself to meet Dean's eyes. "I know he had my best interests at heart, now, and it is one of the most horrific things I ever remember doing. He was my brother, and he loved me, and I killed him."

"Not you... Leviathan-you. In a nightmare. Cas, our nightmares show us up as things we don't wanna be, not things we _are_."

"I am not so sure, Dean. In your dream, you acted much as I thought you would in reality. In mine..."

"Leviathan," Dean repeated. "Not you. I know you've not been human for as long as I have, so I'll cut you some slack on that, but believe me that just because your mind thinks a thing, don't mean you'd do it, or want to do it. I think about smacking people's teeth in all the time. You see me go around doing that?"

"...sometimes," Cas pointed out, but he was smiling just a little when he did.

"Okay, but they deserve it. C'mon. We got a demon to save," Dean said, and with a cock of his head at the portal, the two of them ran at full speed towards it.


	27. Chapter 27

Cas took them straight down to Hell. Dean had been before, but he'd never been in the King of Hell's rooms, and for a moment he was disorientated. Instead of the expected slick black stone covered in congealed blood, or the reek of piss, fear, excrement and rot... it was just a private study.

Dean hadn't really formulated any specific ideas about what Crowley's sanctum would look like, but if he had then it would likely have been like this: all plush, warm wood and leather, a room that looked like it belonged a few decades ago, and more like an Oxford don's private study, or a rich board member's smoking room. Seeing as Crowley didn't picture himself as the 'devil' in the same way that Abaddon or even Lucifer had... it sort of worked for him.

"Homey," was the Hunter's assessment, as he ran his fingers over the edge of the desk. "I guess it would have to be, for you to want to keep coming back, Cas."

By this point, Crowley had reacted to the sudden intrusion and was on his feet.

"The _Hell_ do you think you're doing in here?" he demanded, his voice a shrill, pissed off shriek. 

"We came to talk, Crowley," Cas said patiently.

"Not to me, you didn't," Crowley snapped back, and with a wave of his hand he picked up Dean with his magic.

Dean hit the door hard, and it winded him. It felt like there was an invisible, impossibly strong hand pressing up against his ribs, squeezing the wind from his lungs. He tried his best to keep his chest puffed out under it, scratching with his toes to still scrape the ground in case he let up any time soon. The last thing he wanted was to be dropped on his face in the King of Hell's private office.

"Please put Dean down, Crowley," the angel went on. "We do not mean you harm. We have come in peace."

That made both Dean and Crowley snort at the accidental implications, and then Crowley was scowling at Dean, apparently annoyed they shared elements of their sense of humour.

"Cas is right," Dean said. "Swear on Sam's life, we came here under a white flag, okay? No tricks, no traps, we're just here to parley."

"What are we, pirates?" Crowley snapped.

Dean had to grit his teeth hard, because the rejoinder was _right there_ , but this wouldn't work if Crowley tried to kill him in a fit of rage. "No. We're in a dream."

That made the demon jump, and Dean watched as his attention suddenly turned directly onto him. He paced closer - forgetting Cas for the moment - head to one side to examine him better. "Really? You break into my home and that's your opening gambit? 'This is all a dream'? I would expect that maybe from Castiel here, but you? Don't you have any idea how trite and worn out that is? It's practically an undead horse trope, Dean."

"Dean is correct," Cas said. "This is a nightmare. We are all in a shared dream which you and I entered to try and cure you of your addiction to human blood, and then Dean entered to attempt to extricate us, when we did not awaken."

It was a good thing there were only three of them in here, though. Dean wasn't sure he could take doing this speech a third time. He suddenly felt pretty damn sorry for Morpheus in the Matrix with his pills. "The year's actually 2014," he jumped in. "Reality is one Hell of a lot different to this, an you're stuck in your nightmare. We kinda worked out that you have to get over whatever it is that's stressing you out, or you're insecure about, or you can't wake up."

"Really." The demon's voice was a snide little growl. "And I'm supposed to believe that you, Dean Winchester, are entirely without neuroses, and are the picture of emotional mental health? Or Sparkles, here, who to my knowledge has once lost the plot, and once even forgotten he was an angel to begin with, because his psyche was so fucked up?"

"Crowley, is this not your idea of Hell?" the angel tried. "And I do not mean in the literal sense, I mean in the emotional sense?"

"Having you two chuckleheads come and piss me off is pretty much high on my 'do not want' list, I'll agree."

"What about the rest?" Dean pushed. "You shoved us into Purgatory, did Abaddon try to kick your ass?"

"The Knights of Hell are dead," the demon said, looking curiously at him. "Why are you talking about Abaddon?"

Okay, weird. Dean would have thought for sure that Crowley's nightmare would have involved Abaddon usurping him, and maybe Sam making him mortal, but maybe that would have happened next. "Because we're from your future. Well. Reality, which is in the future. And in that future, Abaddon is trying to take over Hell. You... you're addicted to human blood, and you and Cas are an item."

The King narrowed his eyes at them, and looked from one to another, eminently unconvinced.

"You mind letting me down?" Dean asked, because it was damn painful like this. Surprisingly, Crowley snapped him to his feet.

"Is it the first of April?"

"No, Dean is telling you the truth. We are living in a magical, fictional world. Dean dreamt that Sam said yes to Lucifer, I dreamt that I betrayed you and... and went 'mad' and evil with the Leviathans in me, and you...?"

"None of your business," Crowley huffed.

"C'mon, Crowley, I came to make it all up to you," Dean snapped. "Quit making it difficult."

" _You_ came to make it up to _me_? Forgive me for not jumping for joy, Squirrel, or being overwhelmed by my gratitude, or even **believing you**. Why would you - a Hunter - be apologising to me - the King of Hell?"

"Because, dickwad, I've seen the error of my ways, alright? I've seen what the Hell happens to Cas without you, and I've seen you're not as much of a shit as I thought you were. Don't make me say nice things about you, but... you're okay, alright? You're okay. You're a damned sight better than the alternative, you have every right to hate me, but you still always gave me a second freaking chance because of Cas, so it's time I did, too. Now grow the Hell up and realise this doof loves you, and he'd do anything for you, and wake up. Your kingdom is at stake, Heaven is fucked, and you don't want to spend the rest of your immortal life moping around in a shitty version of the world when you could come back to the real one and _be happy_."

Dean surprised himself by the outburst, and when he glanced to the side he could see Cas' eyes were glittering at the little speech. He thought it was probably for good reasons, but he wasn't entirely sure. Crowley, for his part, was staring slack-jawed at him, and Dean felt more than a little smug that he'd rendered the normally eloquent demon speechless.

"Thank you, Dean," Cas said, his voice almost a whisper.

"Yeah. It was... it was overdue, okay. Look. I'm gonna go outside, so you two lovebirds can do the whole kiss and make up thing, but don't take too long, 'cause who knows how long we've been out for the count, and if Sam comes in again _you_ can fight the giant Stay Puft clown monster."

And Dean left them to it.

***

Crowley was still shell-shocked when Dean closed the door with a resounding thud behind him, leaving him alone with Cas. Cas who was looking at him earnestly, without a single hint of guile or treachery on his stupidly beautiful face.

"Well," he managed, but nothing more. 

"I could tell you a hundred times, Crowley, and I would if it would help you understand."

"I'm not sure a hundred times of telling me would even begin to--"

Cas walked over and put a finger on his lips, silencing him. A shake of his head, and Crowley quirked a smile under that finger. 

"I do love you. This isn't real... in reality? We worked together. We opened Purgatory together. I thought about betraying you, but I never did. I realised I loved you, and we're together, Crowley. Dean... Dean didn't approve so much, but it didn't stop us. We're happy. Even with the world falling apart around us, the only place I want to be is by your side."

Crowley put his hand carefully around Cas' wrist, and tugged his finger clear of his lips. "You aren't real, Cas."

"I know. I am, though. I was there when the world was ending, right by your side. I was there in Purgatory, with you. I was with you when you were addicted to Sam's blood, then mine. And there is nowhere else I would want to be. In my nightmare, I betrayed you. I could think of nothing worse, than to be someone who couldn't let love in. To be someone who hurt the people he cared about. That was my nightmare, Crowley."

"If that was true, how did you wake up?"

"You forgave me," Cas said with a smile that looked so genuine that it hurt Crowley to look at. "And I promised myself I would not stop until I saved you, like you saved me so many times." 

Crowley stared down as the angel took hold of his hand, curling his own around it. A thumb slid over the back, and it just sort of... a flash. A sun, slowly rising. The scent of dew on grass, the lazy dance of bees. Honey, and a broken mind that begged him for understanding. It was like a memory, but a dream. A memory of a dream, or a dream of something real, but distant?

"I--"

Cas pulled on Crowley's hand, and the demon stepped forwards. Somehow he was pulled into a firm embrace, and there were wings around him, cradling him in tight. Choking on a sob, Crowley burrowed in against him, revelling in the warmth and security. After so long sleep-walking numbly through life, to know... to know someone loved him? Really loved him, demon as he was? It snapped and thawed something inside of him, and with a crash all the memories came back.

"I love you, angel," he said, lifting his head to smile at him brokenly.

"I know, I love you too."

And then, at last, the dream broke.


	28. Chapter 28

This time, when the three dreamers sat up, Sam was not there watching. Dean looked around, a little dazed, and when he lifted his hand to rub his face, he realised he was pulling Cas' wrist too.

"Ah, forgot about that," he apologised, and started unfastening the knot.

Cas sat patiently, as he was tied up on either side, and there wasn't much else he could do.

"You know, if you'd said you were into bondage, Dean, you could have always told me," Crowley said with a little smirk. "This is not how I expected our first lesson in ropework, kitten."

"Me either," Cas agreed.

"You know... there's such a thing as TMI?" Dean rolled his eyes, finally getting free and rubbing his wrist. 

"Oh, please. You've been inside my id, Dean, which is practically the psychological equivalent of seeing me naked. I'm sure a little light bondage pales in comparison."

Dean looked over, ready with a sharp rejoinder, but when he caught Crowley's eyes he could see that the gentle teasing wasn't actually meant to be insulting or even unsettling. It was weird, but running around inside his head had sort of given him an insight into his behaviour, and this? This was Crowley-speak for 'thanks for coming in and rescuing us, I feel a bit uncomfortable that you saw me vulnerable, but I saw you, too, so let's all just call it even and joke about it instead'. It also meant, Dean was pretty much certain, that the whole kidnapping and tricking him into nearly being turned human was forgiven by this act of rescue, and after a moment of just holding one another's eyes, they nodded in unison.

"I wonder how long we were asleep," Cas pondered, breaking the strange little moment. It was probably deliberate, and Dean was grateful.

"Dunno." The Hunter cracked his jaw a little. "None of us have beards, so unless the spell stopped that? I'd reckon not very long. We should find Sammy and see."

"Maybe you could go find him?" Crowley suggested.

"Yeah. You two lovebirds stay here, but if I come back and you put a sock on the door..."

"I promise, no hanky panky in your house, Dean. Well. Unless this insatiable little--"

To Dean's surprise, Cas put his finger over Crowley's mouth, and offered an apologetic smile. "Please. We will not be long."

"Yeah... no problem."

Leaving the two of them to it, Dean was pleased to find his legs were only a little stiff from lying down for however long it had been. He padded into the living room, and called out a hey to Kevin, who was busy watching television with his mom.

"Dean! You're awake!" Kevin yelled out in surprise. "You okay?"

"I am. And now this is gonna sound _so_ cliché, but I've always wanted to say it: what day is it?"

"It's Tuesday," Linda said. "You were out three days. Sam and the angel had to meet with the other angel."

"Metatron? What did that dick want?"

"I'm not sure, but he seemed a bit concerned."

Dean went around to the armchair and dropped into it. "I'll wait til he gets back. Don't wanna give the game away if he's with Metatron."

"So... what happened?" Kevin asked, scooting around to face him. "C'mon. I read about spells, and angels, and magic and everything... but I never really get to see much of it."

"And you're not missing out, for the most part. Most of the crap me and Sammy deal with is really pretty shitty, and ninety percent wants to kill you, and the remaining ten percent wants to screw with your head." Dean could see he wasn't getting out of this easily, though. Not without giving Kevin what he wanted. "Alright, so I dreamed I was in their dream, and we woke up. And then I was in my dream, but until I worked it out, I thought it was real. Then we had to do the same for the other two."

"So you were in a dream, in a dream?"

"In two more."

"Whoa. So it was like Inception, then? You have to kill yourself to get up a level?"

"What? No! There was no suiciding."

"How are you sure you are awake now?" Linda asked. "If you thought you were awake before."

"Uh... because we all woke up?"

"You woke up before," she pointed out. "How is this different?"

"Oh, for crying out... no. I'm so not going into that."

Kevin was smirking, now, and Dean realised he was outnumbered. "You should have gone in with a totem, like Inception. But even then, it would only tell you if you were in someone else's dream, not your own. And only if the rules of those dreams were the same as the films. You're never going to be really sure you're awake."

"Are you a butterfly dreaming you're a philosopher, or a philosopher dreaming you're a butterfly?"

That was Sam, who had apparently now arrived back at the bunker.

"Could you maybe not? It's bad enough with these two ganging up on me. Although if you carry on with the annoying logic games, I will be convinced I'm back in my own frigging nightmare."

"Alright, alright... I'm taking it by you sitting here that Operation Morpheus was a win?"

"Yep. All present and accounted for." Dean tilted his head to one side. "No... archangels been spotted? Or no lingering desire to say 'yes'?"

"Uhm... no?"

Dean's hands clapped together. "Peachy. Alright. Back to Heaven and Hell."

***

Once Dean left, Crowley turned straight back to face Cas. There was a moment where they just both stared at one another, a moment of pure, unvocal communication... and then the demon grabbed Cas by the back of the neck, at the same time as Cas did the same in return. Cas' lips were chapped, and there was a brief break in the perfect synchronicity when their teeth briefly caught, and they both pushed with their tongue, then they both gave way, and Crowley was certain this couldn't be a dream. He was sure that no one would dream such a mundane flaw in the process as the way Cas' mouth felt under his, or the slightly stale taste in his own mouth. He had to break off the kiss with a little barking laugh, and he kissed him sorry again. 

"Let's not do that again," he said, and used his teeth to punctuate it on Cas' lip.

"I fully agree. That was probably as much nightmare as I am prepared to endure." Cas stroked over the back of his King's neck, his fingers working at the knots of tension there. "But now Dean is gone, I have to ask you... did it work?"

"You mean, did it cure me of my addiction?" Crowley tilted his head to one side, his eyes unfocussing as he listened instead to the rhythms inside. "Hard to say for sure, but if we've been out for a while, I would expect I would feel the need. I feel... different, though."

The ex-seraph looked like he was considering that, too. "Yes. Me as well. I feel... calmer. I am still aware of the Mark, of its pull, but... I think I could resist it better, now."

"It's why your nightmare was the Leviathans," Crowley realised. "You're worried that power will take over you... or you were. I'm assuming by the fact we all had highly allegorical and Freudian dreamscapes, that it was more than just physical defects we were in there to resolve. Frankly, if I'd known it was that easy to get over neuroses and insecurities, I would have done it years ago."

"I did not find it particularly easy."

"Maybe not for you, but you're - you were an angel, Cas. You've not lived the years of filth like me, or the morally dubious life of the elder Winchester. I mean that in the most inoffensive way possible, darling. You just... you haven't known _sin_ the same."

"You... you sent me to Purgatory. With Dean. Was that... were you trying to protect your nightmare from us?"

Crowley felt a little uncomfortable, but... no. Honesty was the best policy, if this was to work. And it had to, it just had to. "Cas, you _know_ he's been jealous of me, and me of him, right?"

"Jealous? Why?"

Oh Lord, Cas really was the last to realise, wasn't he? "You really need me to tell you?" But the sudden flicker of fear in his angel's eyes broke his heart, so he grabbed for his hand. "You were always torn between us, you know. I don't even mean that you were unfaithful, I mean that your loyalty, your... goodness... meant you felt beholden to them. And that's... it's alright, Cas. It is."

"Then why were you worried? And why is Dean jealous?"

"Just because I understand now that you choose me, at the times, I didn't know for certain. And Dean... Dean thought he was going to lose his friend and ally, to something he'd pledged his life to fighting. You can see why it would be difficult for us both to share you. I think, though, that... we've come to a gentleman's agreement, now. I know I have you, but I'm not going to stop you having friends."

"So my nightmare was being unable to control myself, and hurting and betraying you. Yours was... me and Dean?"

Bloody perceptive shit. "And... well. A few other things. Utter boredom. Loneliness. And - hah - being as cruel as Meg, for little real reason. Being the stereotypical demon, in many respects."

"You are anything _but_ that."

"I know that, now." And he did. It sounded all Hallmark and trite, but... he felt better about himself. Even a Hunter - even _Dean Winchester_ had thought he was worth fighting for. No matter what happened to try pull them apart, Cas and he always found their way back to one another. This Mark and humanity thing were just another stepping stone. "Let's go see the boys, then check in with Cecily. I doubt Sam has been keeping her up to date on what's going on. Poor thing is probably frantic by now."

"She's your Dean, isn't she?"

Crowley blinked at him in surprise. "My Dean?"

"Yes. I was jealous of her, and I shouldn't have been. But she's your friend, and I don't hate her any more."

"...well it's going to be group hugs all around at this rate. Should I order some confetti and host the first 'Congratulations On No Longer Hating Your Boyfriend's Best Friend' party?"

Cas whacked him on the arm. "Shut up. I was being nice."

"So was I... hey! I was!"

Cas jumped off the bed, and Crowley smirked after him, taking a moment to let his eyes slide down Cas' back. 

"Stop contemplating my rear and come be polite, Crowley. The sooner we get back to work, the sooner we can... get back to 'work'."

"Did you just proposition me for sex?"

"Did it work?"

When didn't it.


	29. Chapter 29

"You're back!" 

The moment they arrived in the safe house suite of the hotel, Cecily launched herself at them. Cas watched with amusement as the young demon grabbed Crowley in a bear hug, like a puppy left too long on her own.

"Course we are, sweetheart," he told her, chuckling and returning the embrace. "You should know that nothing keeps me down for long."

"I still worry!"

Cas was about to join in the conversation when he was confronted all at once by two arms, a mouth full of hair, and a warm, short body nuzzled up against him. Momentarily taken aback, he patted her between the shoulder blades. 

"I missed you, too, Cas," she said, letting go a bit quicker. "It's so good to see you both fine."

"And good to see you, too, Cecily," he said, fighting a sudden blush. That was one of the problems of being a human, of course: the constant physiological responses to emotions or even needs. 

Thankfully, Cecily was oblivious to his sudden embarrassment, and she was bounding back over to her tablet. "I've been busy while you've been gone. I managed to track down the Blade, I think!"

"You have? Atta girl. At this rate, I'll be able to retire to a nice penthouse somewhere and leave you running Hell."

Cas sat down on the couch, and was immediately attacked by AJ. The cat was as effusive as his owner, and he was kneading Cas' lap, tail brushing over his face as he did so. "Do you have it, then?"

"Not precisely... see, I have the location. I found that an unmanned sub had picked up something that sounded suspiciously knife-like, which then went surprisingly walkies. Which pretty much confirms it was something worth wanting, because there was an investigation into a research assistant but they couldn't prove anything and the little so and so kept his job."

"Keep an eye on him, then. He sounds like he could be an up and comer when we get him below," Crowley said. "But do go on."

"So then I took him out for drinks, and I noticed he was splashing out a bit more than his salary would suggest, and really, no trust fund kid was gonna go into the sexy world of trench-sifting for the cachet for the ladies. I got him a little... lubricated? And he told me that he'd sold this old - super old - what he called 'Caveman Chic' weapon to some Portuguese smugglers."

"Let me guess, the smugglers are now in custody because of their mercenary exploits?" Crowley asked.

The female demon shook her head briskly. "Nopes. It's still pretty easy to stay under the - hah - radar, you know? But you're gonna get a kick out of the next step."

"Why do I keep having visions of a... mutt... rather fluffy? One might even say hairy?"

An elaborate eyeroll. Cas started to pet AJ, because the cat was now bored and butting his head under Cas' chin. "It would go faster if you did not interrupt, Crowley."

"Where would the fun in fast be?" Crowley scoffed.

"Anyway! It turns out smugglers have other interests, and when I went to ask them - as a prospective collector of interesting artefacts - they told me they'd lost it in a poker game."

"Will coincidences never cease?" the King complained.

"...to pirates. From Morocco."

Even Cas had to admit this was now getting silly. "Pirates play poker with smugglers for ancient artefacts of great power?"

"Well they're not going to play 'Ip Dip' for them, kitten."

Cas had no idea what 'Ip Dip' was, but it was more than likely crude. AJ was now bored of the scritching between his ears, because he made a loud yowling noise and took off at a run into Cecily's room. 

"He still likes you," Cecily said, sounding apologetic. "He's just... skittish."

"So what now? Are we going to shiver some timbers? Is it time to yell 'avast', apply generous quantities of eyeliner and swagger around like Keith Richards after a particularly good night out?"

"I do not believe that modern pirates say those things, Crowley. Indeed, I am not aware that historical ones did, either."

"But I'd look so fetching in a tricorn hat. And bucket boots. And a wig."

Cas tried to imagine Crowley in the caricature outfit, but he did not think it was an appealing concept. It was difficult to picture Crowley in anything but his habitual suit or - well - nothing. Cas continued to stare as he tried to force the image into his mind.

"So, where are we going to buckle our swashes?"

"Hold your horses, sailor... and I know that's a mixed metaphor," Cecily said. "Because _then_ I spoke to the pirates - and in my normal clothes - only to find they'd sold it on. They sold it to a specialist fence, one André Develin. And as far as I can tell, he's still got it. I had arranged a meeting with him tonight, I was gonna go on my own before I heard you were back."

"Cecily, have I told you recently you are a treasure?"

"Maybe not in the last hour, so it bears repeating," she said with a wink.

Cas grinned as Crowley laughed at her. Once upon a time, he would have felt unnerved by this easy camaraderie the two shared, but now he knew better. He knew that Crowley had made his decision, and that had been Cas. Didn't mean that neither of them could form any other relationships, friendships, or the like. He didn't even mistrust Cecily: everything he had seen of her had shown she was very driven, very dedicated, and much like Crowley in a lot of ways. She valued intelligence, and she worked hard when she wanted something. In another life, before she had become a demon, he was certain that she would have gotten along well with Sam, if not Dean too.

"Where are you meeting him?"

"In the park, tonight, at ten. He refused to do anywhere more public, but I figured I'd be safe enough there."

"Sounds like we're going on a field trip, then," Crowley said. "Right. Perhaps you'd be a dear and go to one of my private vaults and bring back something worth trading for the Blade? Make sure you're thorough in finding something appealing enough. Money is no object, we need this blade and as soon as possible."

Cas tried very hard not to let his smile turn into a smirk, because he was almost certain that Crowley was giving Cecily the subtle signal for 'I need time alone with my angel', and Cas was always happy for time alone with the King.

"Gotcha," she said, with a nod. "I'll keep an eye out for a hat with three corners."

"Minx!" he called out after her, even as she went to the door.

***

Dean knew Sam would know to follow him, because Sam always knew to follow him when he needed it. After so long living on the road together, in confined spaces, you got to read when the other person radiated 'back off' and when they radiated 'come help me'. Still, he nodded in acknowledgement when Sam came down to the garage.

"Just wanted to get my hands dirty. Been stuck in a dream so long that it feels good to really... feel again," Dean said, looking from under the bonnet to where Sam was standing. He couldn't catch his eyes from inside the car, but he didn't need to, either.

"You know Kevin's never gonna let it rest that it isn't reality, don't you? You've left yourself wide open to geek jokes from here until the end of time."

"Like the kid could keep a lid on them anyway," Dean scoffed. 

"True."

Dean checked the oil level. He didn't need to, but it was part of his regular service. The Impala had more miles on her than most transatlantic passenger planes, but the fact she was still running to do that was due to the TLC he administered so often. 

"So... you dreamed you were dreaming? And then you dreamed their dreams too?"

"Something like that," Dean said. "Pretty creepy, actually. Both of them dreamt Cas screwed Crowley over, and then there was a bunch of other fucked up shit. I guess their relationship ain't all sunshine and flowers like he keeps telling us."

"No. I guess not."

Dean carried on working for a few more minutes. "...it's better than I thought it was, though. I never expected to... uh. Approve. But I guess I do. They were still there with me, when we didn't know it was a dream, and you'd gone off doing your White Suited Devil gig. They were there to help me. I guess... I guess me and Crowley are okay now."

"That's good news. He's not perfect, but he's better than Abaddon. **And** Lucifer."

Most things were better than Lucifer. And speaking of... Dean pulled out from under the hood, and put a hand on the edge of the car. "You said yes - in my dream. Again."

"I heard."

"It... sorta saved me. 'Cause I was talking to the Devil, and he couldn't come up with one good reason why you would. And I knew... I knew, Sammy. I knew you wouldn't do it, not this time." 

Sam offered him a thin smile in response, but Dean could tell it meant a lot. 

"Yeah, well. Why would I? I don't know why the other me you saw that time did, and the time I _did_ it was the only way to stop the Apocalypse. I think I can plead extenuating circumstances."

Dean nodded. "Losing you was the last straw, but all the other things? Kevin and his mom running? Charlie getting bitten or whatever? My worst nightmare was... well. Losing people. And I guess because of that, I've been keeping people at a remove. Dad always told us - so did Bobby - that no one got out of this job alive. But you know what? People die all the time who _don't_ hunt. So, what am I gonna do? Keep everyone at arm's length in case they bite the bullet some day? What kind of life is that?"

"You're right. I never wanted to come back to this life, you know that. And if I could have gotten away from it - if I ever can - I will... but I don't want control me, Dean."

"When we stab this bitch demon and the rest... what's say we do something."

"Like? What? Throw a 'Not the end of the world' party?"

Sam looked incredulous, but was it really such a shitty idea? "Why not?"

"You... wow. You mean it. Okay. Sure."

"We got friends, Sam. Alright, not many, but we do. I wanna save people, but I wanna... live, too. Else what are we hunting and fighting for? And maybe we will settle down. Maybe we'll be - what did Henry call us? Legacies. With all this shit at our disposal, we could do things better. Maybe get Garth and Charlie in, do things _better_. And if we fix Cas, having an angel _and_ the King of Hell with us... the world is our oyster, Sam."

"You sure you didn't bang your head in there?"

"I'm sure, Sam. I just... I had a lot of time to think about it. I dunno, maybe it's just lingering happy-clappy zen, but... yeah. I feel different. I think the whole 'Wonderful Life' thing Zach tried to do worked this time. It don't feel anywhere near as crappy as it did before."

Dean watched as his brother considered this for a moment, his lips pursed, nodding along as if he could hear some hidden music. "I can buy that. And I'm glad. You carry too much crap around for the world, Dean. We both do. It's about time you realised that."

"Let's stop now, before we break out the guitar and sing about our feelings, alright? You promise me if I ever look like I'm about to grow my hair and turn hippy..."

"I'll shoot you."

Dean clapped Sam on the arm. "Good man."


	30. Chapter 30

"Oh, hey, Sam. I didn't think you'd still be up."

Gadreel startled, and for a moment he was struck dumb. He'd thought he would be alone in the dead of night, he hadn't accounted for the Prophet wandering around in jeans and t-shirt when everyone else was asleep.

"Not Sam," Kevin said, when the silence went on a bit too long. "Gadreel?"

The angel nodded slowly. "Sam was asleep. He is still asleep, in the corner of my mind. I do not need to rest, and his body is recovering well with me in it, so I--"

"Hey, I'm not judging. If Sam's healthy, I'm pretty sure if you're sleepwalking him, he'd be cool with that."

"He... yes. I am not pretending to be him. I just... wished some time alone."

"You want me to go?"

"No, I do not. I simply... wanted to have some time with him unconscious. I have not appeared in front of people, except when called, because I did not want to make you uncomfortable. I realise it must be disconcerting to hold a conversation with another mind in the same body. Especially for Dean."

"It is a bit weird, but it's not so bad." Kevin nodded towards the fridge. "Hungry?"

"I do not require sustenance. Indeed, I could maintain Sam's body without it, but it is beneficial to him when he is healing, and it is also more comforting to him to consume it."

"Okay, so you don't _need_ it, but do you _want_ it?"

Gadreel paused, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you enjoy it? I mean, when Sam does it. You could do it for fun. Humans do it way too often, but I guess you could get away with a ham sandwich without breaking his metabolism... you never done something just for fun?"

"I... spent most of my existence within Heaven's prison, Kevin. And when I was cast down to Earth, my primary aim was to survive, and then to keep Sam Winchester as safe as I could."

"So you're long overdue this... c'mon. We're having a midnight snack and we're gonna sit under the stars, and I'm not taking no for an answer. I think you need a friend, don't you? You can tell me all the angel things, and I can tell you all the human things. It'll be cool."

And here the Prophet was, trying to be kind to him, when Gadreel was under orders to kill him. He'd not told Sam, or Dean... how could he? How could he admit that the 'new God' had asked him to murder their friend as a sign of faith? He wasn't sure how he could buy his way into Metatron's camp without doing it, but also he knew if he did then Sam and Dean would never forgive him. He was almost certain that the Winchesters were in the right, especially having heard of what Metatron had done to Castiel, but there was always the old temptation of paradise. Kevin wasn't going to take no for an answer, though, and he walked off without waiting for a reply.

"I do not think I know many things that would interest you, Kevin. As I said, I was--"

"In jail, yeah, you said. And don't worry, I'm not gonna shake you down for Shawshank stories. I mean... being an angel. I could ask Cas, but he's normally busy with Crowley."

Gadreel watched with interest as the Prophet pulled out the ingredients for the sandwich. He had witnessed many meals being prepared before, but this was different. If Kevin was making this for him, then it was a gift, and he wanted to memorise every detail. It was not the need, it was the thought behind it. When was the last time anyone had given him anything? And if they had, it had always been in an exchange, in a trade, not for the sake of it. 

"I will answer what questions I can."

"Is it... weird? Cohabiting? I mean, how much are you aware of what's going on?"

"I can see and hear everything. There is no real way for me not to, unfortunately. Or, if there is, I am not sure how. I do try to give Sam some privacy if it is a moment of a highly personal nature. I am capable of assuming control enough to speak at any time."

"And Sam doesn't know when you do?"

"I can... make it either way. I concealed my actions in the past, as a method of keeping myself safe. Now, though, I am not taking control unless he is unconscious or I am speaking with Metatron, and that is for his own sake."

"Does it... does it get frustrating? Being stuck there, not able to do stuff?"

Gadreel thought about that for a moment, watching as Kevin sliced the sandwich into slightly uneven triangles. The bread bounced back when his fingers lifted, but the slightest indentations from his grip were visible. "No. I spent so many thousands of years in either solitude or... worse... that this is actually a welcome change. Sam Winchester leads a very interesting life, and if I feel I am required, I make my presence known."

Kevin pushed the plate over the counter, and nodded. "Try that. I can put mustard on if it's too bland, but if you're not used to mustard it might be a bit much for you."

The angel bit into it, and really tried to savour it. It was strange, and he could tell the edges of what it would taste like to a human through what he realised was Sam's sense memory, but he could feel the other things over the top: he could feel the way the bread was soft against his palate, and how the butter inside was slightly more sparse in some areas than others. He could feel the colder slices of ham in contrast to the bread, and he could feel the way the meat sheared under his teeth. Still, it was pleasant, and he swallowed. He ate one of the triangles, then pushed the plate back towards the Prophet.

"I would like to try mustard. Please."

Kevin nodded, and went back into the fridge. Gadreel watched how much he put on, and memorised it for future use.

"Did you know you were letting evil in, when you did it?"

Gadreel paused with the sandwich half way to his mouth, and his jaw clicked shut. "No. Not truly. I swear to you, it was a sin of mistake, not malice. I was truly sorry for the pain I caused, but I also believe that choice - the choice to sin - that humanity now has is not bad. It is what people choose to do with that freedom that defines it."

Kevin's lips pressed together, then he grinned. "Yeah. I guess. Alright... enough questions for me for a bit. Is there anything you want to ask?"

"What... is reading His Word like?"

"Honestly? Weird. It's not like reading English, it's like you stare at a Magic Eye picture for long enough, and then suddenly this shape or thought sort of comes through. And you have to kind of look at it weird, not straight on. I guess it's because of how powerful it is, that it's hard to explain or even write down. It's all very... it's very formal, you know? Like old school."

"Well, He is the oldest being."

"True! So... you ever see him?"

Gadreel shook his head. "I did not. I was tasked directly with work from him, but I was not granted the boon of his presence. I wished many a time to be given one chance to speak with Him, to explain myself and beg for understanding and forgiveness... but He was gone."

"What... what was Heaven like? And Eden?"

"It has been a long time since I was in either place, but I recall them perfectly. Eden was the most beautiful garden you could imagine. It was teeming with life and joy, scent and sound. Everything was in balance, but it grew, like it was following some invisible, but beautiful patterns. Heaven was even more glorious, it was light and song and peace. Before... before Lucifer Fell. My brothers and sisters would sing paeans to our Father, and it was the most wonderful song you could never imagine."

"It sounds... well. It sounds like I couldn't even understand it."

"Not as an angel would, I do not think. And from what I understand, Heaven for humans is different, it is your idea of perfection. I am unsure how yours would manifest."

"Well, I'm in no rush to see."

Gadreel had to fight a wince at that.

"...you know something I don't?"

"No."

"C'mon, man. Aren't we friends? What made you look like you'd been chewing sour grapes?"

"It is..." He had to make a choice. Did he choose an angel who had left him in prison for years, or the humans who had unanimously given him a second chance, even with his duplicity? "Metatron. He asked me to prove my loyalty, by doing distasteful things."

"And that made you freak out about me because..."

The boy was smart, and he saw the realisation there. "He asked me to kill you."

Kevin swallowed. "Okay."

"I am not going to."

"Well, that's... nice. I guess. Have you even told Sam and Dean?"

Gadreel shook his head slowly. "I did not know how to broach it, without them demanding I was removed immediately."

"Why would they, if it's all just a request? It's not like you actually tried to kill me, or anything. I mean they might be pissed you didn't tell them, but how is what Metatron asks you, your fault?"

"You... are not angry?"

"Why would I be? I know you don't know me, and I don't know you, and... well I assume going through with it must be pretty tempting, if you think you'll get to go home. But do you really think Heaven is worth having if you have to murder for it? I'm biased, but yeah.... that's not Heaven."

"You are correct," the angel said, and he took a big bite from the sandwich. The mustard was strangely pungent and acerbic, and a strange counterpoint to the meat. He thought it was a good addition. "I did... consider it. But I think it would be a huge mistake. I am just concerned that if there is no way for me to enter Metatron's ranks, then I will no longer be useful."

"Well, we'll work something out. I mean, it's not like I'm a public figure. Would he even know if I was dead or not?"

"...I do not think so."

"There you go then!" Kevin bit into his own sandwich, so his speech turned a little muffled. "I'll say I don't think we should lose you. You can always go back to your old vessel, anyway. And then we can still have you around?"

"If... if I would be welcome, then yes."

"Hey, look around: two brothers, a Prophet, his mom, an ex-angel, the King of Hell and his secretary... you really think they would kick you out?" Kevin's eyes widened. "You... really haven't had anyone be your friend in a very long time, have you?"

"An unfortunate side-effect of accidental sin." Gadreel offered a very thin-lipped smile. 

"Okay. How about I agree to watch your back, and you watch mine? Well, as best as I can. The last angel who came for me... it didn't end well. Uh. I'm not selling this, am I?"

The angel's smile was wider now. "Not very well, but it is certainly appreciated, Kevin Tran."

"Eat up. I'm gonna have to show you the world, one night at a time. Just... don't tell my mom how late I'm up, huh?"

"I promise. And I will ensure you feel rested, every morning."

"Whoa, angel Red Bull? Count me in! C'mon. We're going to stare up at the stars. I love it here, but sometimes I get cabin fever, you know? Bring the chips. This is a chips and dips type conversation."

Gadreel was not sure how chips and dips helped, but... that was what learning was for, he supposed.


	31. Chapter 31

"I can't believe he wants to meet here," Crowley complained, brushing at his already immaculate pant leg, mostly because he knew the horrible park bench he was sitting on was less than sanitary. It was so very _filthy_ here, and so ridiculously cliché. "Has he never watched 'Breaking Bad'? Doesn't he know that somewhere secluded like this is perfect for brutal murderings and thefts?"

"I don't think he's expecting the King of Hell to come to buy a knife, boss."

"He's a black market salesman! He fences antiquities! What sort of _unsavoury_ characters do you think buy from people like him? I'll tell you: Moroccan pirates, drug cartels, and other people who see laws as a tax, as ways for the police to tax them in the form of bribes when they fail to adhere to them. Not _nice_ people."

"Well... maybe he's gonna bring backup? I don't know, I've never done anything like this before. It's sort of exciting."

Crowley snorted a little in amusement at Cecily's cheery optimism. "I remember when I was bright eyed and bushy tailed like you, you know. It's refreshing to hear your take on things. Tell you what... why don't you play the role of my broker? I'll be the silent party, and you can practice your bartering techniques on him. You've got a list of items for trade, if he's not interested in money. I'll part with any of it, but try to keep on top of the exchange. If we have to approach him from another guise because this falls through, he'll try to bid us off one another, and he'll understand how important this is to us."

The younger demon's eyes were wide for a moment, then she got a hold of herself, and grinned. "Okay. I'll try to do you proud. Remember, I used your old alias. The one you gave to the Winchesters?"

"I remember."

"Is... is that him, there? He looks pretty shifty."

"I would say that the only people wandering around in this park, at this hour, in a smart black suit? Are people here for nefarious deals. Either he's here to see us, or this is the local meeting place for every Tom, Dick or Harry to flog off their ancient artefacts."

Cecily bit her bottom lip, then stood up smoothly. She had a wonderful presence, of course. It was that fine line between bubbly, approachable warmth and sharp intellect that would draw people in. Her hands smoothed down her skirt as she strode over, and Crowley noticed how she was so obviously open to using all her attributes to make the sale. No wonder Scotius had been head over heels with her. Surely she would find someone worthy of her before long.

"Mr. Develin?" she called out, when she got close.

Crowley watched the man turn to her with a magnanimous nod, and how his eyes lingered lower than her eyes for a moment too long. Not that he blamed him, but the pause was a little too long to be comfortable. Cecily was utterly unfazed by it, of course. 

"Yes," he said, holding his hand out. "And you are...?"

"I am Cecily Simmons," she said, using the pseudonym she used when she was passing as a human. "I represent Mr. Macleod's interests," she said, nodding back to where he was sitting on the bench. "He has authorised me to deal with you directly in this matter."

"I see." 

Develin inclined his head respectfully at 'Fergus', which Crowley barely acknowledged. He pulled out his phone and started to play a game, so he looked busy.

"I understand you have in your possession an item of considerable age? Mr. Macleod has an extensive collection of ancient weaponry from around the world, so we think it would be the perfect acquisition. Of course, we have access to the best appraisal and aging technology, so the sale would be dependent upon confirmation of the provenance. We would be prepared to make a sizeable down-payment, or to arrange for you to bring the item to our laboratory at our expense for the verification process."

"I see. I do need to make you aware that you are not the only buyer interested in such a unique item."

"Of course. May I know who the other party is?"

Crowley could _hear_ the way his lips curled around a fake-smile as he replied. He was under no doubt there were other buyers in the pipeline, but of course such a consummate salesman would use them as leverage to broker the highest price. Perhaps he'd given Cecily a little too hard of a job here, but he still remembered his promise to the dream-Cecily, to help develop her properly to be his successor. Hard work and loyalty should be rewarded, and he knew Abaddon had destroyed her self-esteem. If she could cinch this deal, then she would feel better.

"I trust you will understand that discretion is my cornerstone. I would not want to divulge others' interest in such a high-profile piece, as I am sure Mr. Macleod himself would appreciate his name not be associated with any purchases he made or enquired about. All I can say is that some of the buyers are public bodies, who would therefore make the item available to the greater public."

Really, Crowley thought, as he ran out of lives on the sodding candy game, Develin was going to play the 'museum' card? True or not appealing to some sense of civic duty? Or was it a thinly veiled threat reminding them of the illegality of some of his transactions? Hmm.

"That would be such a waste," Cecily insisted, and Crowley grinned at her sharp-wits, even as he spammed her phone with requests for lives. "The greater public cannot appreciate true beauty, or history, in the same way that a specialist can. I do understand your concerns, though, and it will be reflected in the price."

Develin nodded and Crowley watched over the edge of his phone as they carried on.

"That is very kind of Mr. Macleod. Did you have a figure in mind?"

Cecily pulled out a business card from her breast pocket, and scribbled a number on the back. She flicked it out, as if offering her phone number. Well, okay, her number probably _was_ on the business card, but you did not hand over your contact details with such élan if you weren't making a statement.

The fence took the card, examining it, and letting a flicker of pleasure onto his face that most humans would not be able to pin down, but which a demon would find infinitely easier. She had him. He hoped she'd have enough of the killer instinct to realise, but as she'd worked demons around her little finger in the past? He was sure she did.

"That is the down-payment," she said, almost off-handedly. "Upon confirmation of the provenance, then I am authorised to pay an additional twenty-five percent of that sum. Should the tests prove unsatisfactory, we will require ninety percent back. The ten percent will be a payment of good faith to facilitate any future transactions. Is that acceptable?"

Oh, Crowley thought, that was a good one, throwing in the prospect of future purchases. Very good. He was dying to see the figure she'd quoted, but it would spoil the façade if he got up to look himself, and she would tell him soon enough.

"It is. Very well. Let me consider your offer and get back in touch."

"Please do," she said, with a little bow of her head, "but please be aware the commission Mr. Macleod offers as security regardless of the provenance is dependent upon timely conclusion, and it is reviewed on a daily basis. He also occasionally finds items from his acquaintances which are looking to be rehomed. He has a very extensive - but distinguished - circle of friends." Cecily topped that off with a little bend at the waist which turned into a flounce, and she walked back over to Crowley.

The King kept the air of indifference in place, even as she came close. "Feel good, did it?" he asked, low and measured. He was sure Develin was still trying to listen in, to complete his assessment of them.

"Actually, I kinda did. It's certainly nice to play at being some fancy private assistant..."

"Play? My dear, you _are_."

"I guess I am! I just... see you as the King, more than anything else. But I could get used to the big hotel rooms and the large sums of money."

"Speaking of, you're going to have to tell me what you offered him. I trust we're not going to need to remortgage the moon as payment?"

"Oh, no. Besides, I did my research before. I found out some of his previous sales and commissions, and I used that to price something just a bit above what he's used to, without it being so much he'd get suspicious. I also thought he might actually come in handy some other time, too, so I wanted to keep him sweet."

"That's my girl... well. Wave me to my feet, because if he's still snooping on us, we have to keep this protocol going. And then? I think you've earned yourself whatever your heart desires."

"Let's make sure he bites, first!"

"Oh, he will. I can see it in their eyes... he will."

***

"Well, I have to say, if nothing else, he's treating you well." Balthazar was wandering around the living area of their suite, prodding and poking at things. Most of it was the trappings of the hotel, but some of the items they had brought themselves. Mostly Cecily, to be fair. Cas didn't have much in the way of material goods, and Crowley had left his things back in Hell.

"He has always treated me well, Balthazar. It is one of the things I appreciate most about him, his kindness."

"I never thought I'd hear about a kind demon, let alone the King of Hell," April said, airily. She was sitting on the couch leafing through one of Cecily's books, and ignoring AJ who was vibrating with anger from the other side of the room.

Cas wasn't sure why the cat was fine around demons and angels, but apparently took umbrage to a Reaper. Cats were very sensitive creatures, and if he still had his angelic powers he would have tried to speak with the animal. After one attempt to soothe him, which had resulted in numerous pink welts to the hand, Cas had decided AJ could seethe in peace.

"Neither did I," Cas agreed. "But he is. And Lucifer was an angel, so I suppose you cannot judge a book by its cover."

"I can't believe you used that trite line, Cassy," the angel tutted, finally finished with his tour of the suite, flopping into an armchair as if he owned it. "But who am I to judge? Love comes in many forms, after all, and as incest never appealed to me, either, and any affair with a human would be a flash in the pan at best... God really didn't give us much in the way of options."

"I suppose he did not intend for us to fall in love. Nephilim are considered abominations, and I do not even know if a demon and an angel could procreate together."

Balthazar snorted. "Cas... someone _has_ given you the birds and the bees talk, haven't they? Because unless one of you has decided to dress _far_ to the left, there's no need to worry about buns in either of your non-existent ovens."

Trust Balthazar to go that route. "I meant other angels and demons, not us. I am fully aware of the reproductive cycles of human bodies, thank you."

"Good. Because if Dad never told you, I would take one for the team."

"Now you have investigated all Cecily's hand creams, are you ready to tell me what was so urgent that you asked for a meeting?"

"She has a good range," April called out from within the book, "...and your brother is always stealing mine."

"What can I say? It keeps me supple," Balthazar said, unbothered by the accusation. 

"It is true I find that my hands chafe more often as a human than I did as an angel," Cas granted. "But this is avoiding the question."

"Quite. Well, as you know, there has been nothing but uproar since Heaven's gates were shut. After the initial chaos when many died and there was a scramble for vessels, and everyone did the whole 'Oh no, how do I human?' thing for a few weeks... factions started to emerge. You already know that you were not very popular amongst some factions."

"Bartholomew," April said. "Not a very nice angel. He paid me, but I almost wanted to punch him anyway."

"...and I need to thank you both again for protecting me from him, even if you did do it by murdering me."

"No problem!" the Reaper said, cheerily.

"So there's Bartholomew, and then there's Malachai. And for a while it was pretty much just boring turf warfare. Triad versus the Mafia, that kind of thing. They tried to press-gang people into joining them, each side promising they were going to open up Heaven. I've even heard of Bartholomew going after the pacifists and the conscientious objectors, which is what's really worrying me. If he takes out all the calm, sensible, non-bloodthirsty angels, all that's going to be left will be the gung-ho brigade."

"No angel should die, Balthazar. Pacifist or not."

"True, but I will say I would rather the bad sort got weeded out than the good."

"What do you intend to do about this?"

"Me? Cas... why do you think I'm here?"

"I assumed you wanted my help with some plan you had concocted?"

"I was actually hoping you'd come up with some wonderful plan. You were always the strategist, not me. I was more of the behind the scenes type." The other angel shrugged expansively, and danced his foot up and down where it crossed over his other knee. 

"I see." Cas frowned. "I had not thought about how to fix Heaven, yet. We had the issue of Abaddon and--"

"Cas... this is your brothers and sisters. I know you're all happy families with the demon and your au pair - or is she your sandwich filler? - but this is Heaven, ducky. This is your real family."

Cas sighed. "Crowley is my real family, too. So are Sam and Dean. I will try to think of a way to help you with this, but I also need to kill Abaddon. Perhaps when I have killed her, I may be able to use the power of the blade to convince Metatron to--"

"Blade?"

"The First Blade."

"As in... Cain? As in... the first demon? The **brother** -killing demon? Inventor of murder and fratricide all in one go?"

"Yes. Him."

April put the book down. "I heard he was in hiding," she said. "No one's seen him in years."

"He has retired," Cas said. "I tracked him down, and Crowley and Cecily are now trying to acquire the Blade. It can kill Abaddon, you see."

"Well, that's nice, but you could just shiv old Marv with an angel blade and be done with it. I mean it, Cas. Maybe poke him a few times first, to get him to give up your Grace and the way back home."

"I do not wish to kill him."

"Fine... don't. But rough him up a bit, get him to fix it all, then bung him in a cell, or rip out _his_ Grace and voilà. You can do it, I know you can."

"And what of Bartholomew and Malachai?"

"Screw them! They're just pretenders. Malachai is a big bag of hot air, and Bartholomew is a murderous little shit. The angels would see you as their saviour and follow you home. Then if anyone gave you too much trouble, you could handle them."

"...more killing? Balthazar, it is not the answer."

"No killing, then! Cas, you can do what you damn well want. You defeated an archangel before, I'm sure this isn't beyond you. And they would follow you, they would. You're a strong figurehead, and you have a knack for organising your forces. Sure, you went a bit power-mad Stalin towards the end, but we'd be there to stop you, this time. Heaven needs you, Cas. All those angels dying daily need you."

"I... I don't know..."

He didn't want that. He didn't want their deaths on his hands, but he had to agree that they were. Not deliberately, not maliciously, but he had been instrumental in the breaking of Heaven. More than once, really. And if he was passive and ran away from it, it was as bad as doing wicked things. 

"Just tell me what the play is, and we'll follow you. I didn't want to get dragged into the fight last time, but... even I can see when something needs doing. I'm not the only one, either. Anyone I've found who is sympathetic to you, or who wants the fighting to end... let's just say we're a network of sorts. Keeping one step ahead of the two - and now Metatron's insidious whispers - is no mean feat, but we're getting better at it every day."

"I will... I will think about it. I will try to come up with a plan. Perhaps if I speak with Malachai and Bartholomew? I knew him, once. He was... he was headstrong, but he did listen to me when he knew I was in control. Maybe I can get them to see reason and join forces with us against Metatron. We all need to work together, not fight amongst ourselves. If we are at war with each other, we will all die."

"That's the spirit. Well, April and I have a very nice pool party with our names on, so we'll be in touch. I know you're going to need to do the deep, brooding face for a while until you work out what it is you should do, and I'd rather skip that part of your process."

Cas did not have a brooding face. It was a thoughtful face, but not brooding. He pouted. "I will call you, then. Please... stay safe."

"I'll keep him one step ahead," April said with a wink. "Don't worry about that."

He was sure she would. They seemed to be happy together, a Reaper and an angel. He had never heard of such a union before, but angels had been very much reserved when it came to discussing relationships. Perhaps more of his brethren had conducted clandestine affairs throughout the years, affairs which he had been oblivious to? 

He liked to think so. He liked to think that more angels were secretly happy. He was happier, now. Even with all the trouble that love brought, it was worth it.

Cas decided that while the demons were off looking for the Blade, that he could start looking for a safe way to contact the faction leaders. It would reveal he was still alive - and put April at risk for her deception - but it was bound to happen at some point anyway. It would be much better if he controlled how and when it became public knowledge. He was going to need to set up a meeting for negotiation, he decided. It was not something he had ever done before, so he was going to need to do some research, first.


	32. Chapter 32

"I would like to speak to you in private," Gadreel said, when he and Dean were alone. "I would like to discuss a matter with you, before I discuss it with Sam. I believe he would agree with me, but if you do not, then I will not put him in a position of danger."

That caught the Winchester's attention. "Don't you think you should be asking Sam?"

"Yes. And I will. But only if you are supportive of my suggestion. If you are not, then it would seriously hinder my plan, and I will attempt an alternative instead. I want you to understand that I will do nothing against his will. It is not my intention to mistreat him, especially after you both gave me a chance to prove myself to you."

"Alright, I'll hear you out," Dean agreed. "So what's this plan?"

"Metatron asked me to prove my loyalty by killing the Prophet."

"Dude, what!?"

"Please do not worry, I have no intention of doing such a thing. Indeed, I have discussed it with Kevin myself. He knows I do not plan on doing this, but that Metatron wishes him dead."

Dean looked understandably alarmed, and Gadreel wondered if he could have broached this better. People were difficult at times, and he knew that his extensive incarceration had made his communication skills atrophy. 

"Okay. So your great plan to sort this out is what? If you're coming to me for my blessing, it ain't gonna be good news, is it?"

"I do not wish to kill Kevin, as I said, but he will not accept me into his confidence if I do not make an attempt on his life. I believe, therefore, that the only solution if we still wish to use me as a - is it 'double agent'? Is for me to make the attempt publicly, but for you to foil me. If there were witnesses to this, and my actions looked convincing enough, we could then stage my defection from your side to his."

"And you'd... what? Take Sam with you?"

"That is something I would need to ask Sam. If he did not wish to accompany me, then I would include my eviction from him in my ruse. I would also like to secure Kevin's consent to this."

Dean looked sideways at him, like he could sense something awry. "How long ago did Metatron ask this? It wasn't while I was out, was it?"

Reluctantly, the angel shook his head. "No, it was not."

"So why did it take you so long to mention it?"

Ashamed, Gadreel steepled his fingers, bracing himself to admit it. "For many reasons. Foremost was that I considered his offer, even though murdering an innocent is abhorrent. I will not lie to you, Dean, his offer of Heaven was tempting. Secondly, because I thought you would not be happy with me that such a drastic step was needed. The longer I did not disclose it, the more difficult it became."

"Right. That's what happens with lies, but... you know you nearly got kicked out for good the last time you lied to us?"

"This was not a lie."

"Yeah, it kind of was. That's just a technicality. You were still trying to pull the wool over our eyes, and I thought we agreed no more?"

"You are correct. I can only apologise, and remind you that I did confess to the plan. It is... difficult for me to trust you. I know that you and your brother are honourable men, but..."

"But home is home, huh? I get it. After being locked up so long, the thought of finally sticking it to the man and getting to rule over the roost with dick for brains sounded like paradise? Yeah, I don't think his Heaven will be all that good. Alright. You discuss this with Sammy - and I mean _really_ \- and if he and Kevin agree, it's what we'll do. You're making the right choice, trusting us."

"I believe I am. Though many of my kind thought it of me, I assure you, I am not like Lucifer. I bear no ill will towards your people. I believe that humans are extraordinary, and if I can assist in alleviating some of the pain that I had a part in creating for mankind, then I must do it."

"You promise me one thing, though. One thing."

"What is it?"

"You take care of Sammy. Whatever happens, unless the world is gonna literally end... you take care of Sammy. You get him the Hell out of danger if you ever can. Not because I need him - which I do - but because that kid deserves so much more than life gave him, alright?"

"I understand. I have seen his pain, inside. There is much that has happened to him, and although I do what I can to heal it, he is... damaged. Very badly. And I do not mean in body."

"He was in the Cage, did you know? With Lucifer and Michael, for God knows how long."

"I saw."

"So remember that, when you talk to him. Remember he literally went to Hell for all this bull. He didn't ask for this, for any of this. And one day, maybe he'll leave. Maybe he will get that white picket fence. Who knows?"

"I hope he does, Dean. It would make him very happy, I can tell." Gadreel wanted that, and not simply because he could feel the pain. He believed Dean: Sam was due the most impressive of breaks.

***

"Yep... we can arrange that tonight. We can meet in the same place if you want. I will put the money in an account. When we meet, I will sign into the account to show you, and then I'll give you the details to the account so you can transfer it where you want to. If you want to bring a companion to the verification, then we can do that. What bank do you prefer? Right. Okay. I'll see you tonight."

Cecily hung up the phone, grinning like a fool. It was really rather encouraging, how positive she was.

"So you did it. I knew you could, darling. Maybe I should make you Queen of the Crossroads when this is all done. Would you like that?"

"Oh... I think so. I never thought I'd be interested in it, but it's actually pretty cool."

"You still have your contact in the university lab ready?"

"I do."

"Get it sorted for tonight. It's just a formality, of course. I'm willing to bet if it's the real deal then Cas will be able to tell straight off."

"Okies, I'll get our lab set up for the show. And then we gotta work out how we get to Abaddon."

"I have a feeling that's going to be easier than you think," Crowley told her, and waited for her to leave to go make the other phone calls.

Cas was in the shower again. Crowley was worrying a little bit by how often Cas showered. It made sense that he would want to clean up after they'd been rollicking about, and also when he woke up in a morning, but Cas seemed to be a little bit obsessed with standing under the hot water. When Crowley had been a human, a very, very long time ago, there had been no such thing as water boilers or showers, so he only had experience of them from the demonic point of view. He suspected it felt a little differently for a 'true' human, even if Cas wasn't really that.

He knocked carefully on the door. "Cas?"

"You can come in, Crowley," came the muffled reply. "I am not done yet, but you can join me."

Crowley opened the door - careful not to open it too far, in case Cecily wandered back in, and then closed it behind him. Cas was standing under the spray with his eyes closed and his head tilted into the falling water. It was, he had to admit, a stunning sight: the droplets rained down hard over his face, a steady and powerful - strangely musical - noise. The water curled down over his broad shoulders and snaked around his naked form, following the contours of muscle and bone. Castiel's vessel was very, very beautiful, and the way his human skin flushed pink under the heat was just so damned pretty. Cas turned his head out of the shower, and when he did so, little droplets clung to his delicately long lashes and reflected back tiny little rainbows before he opened his eyes to peer back.

"You could join me," Cas offered again. "If you wanted to."

Crowley grinned. "Tempting as that is, if I jump in there with you we might end up late for our appointment with Develin tonight. I think I'll just admire for now, and take a rain check."

"He said yes?" Cas asked, turning in the bath with the squeaking noise of heel on porcelain. 

"He did. Cecily is arranging for the funds and the fake lab tests tonight. The lab tests are just to keep up appearances, though, because if I'm right, then you're our First Blade Detector."

"Do you think Abaddon knows what we are up to? Is there any chance this could be a trap?" Cas was idly stroking the faintest traces of the shower gel he'd applied God only knew how long ago over his biceps as he spoke, and Crowley had to force his eyes up to Cas'.

"I like to think that no, she doesn't. We've been very careful about this, not using any known channels. Abaddon was stuck in a closet for decades, she doesn't understand the modern world quite the same way we do. And for all Hell has a lot of bright sparks, the two brightest are here in this hotel suite, not following her."

"Good. If she were to get her hands on the Blade, we would be in a lot of trouble."

Crowley nodded, and then ran his tongue out over his lips.

"What is it?" Cas asked, pausing mid-rub of arm. "You look... worried."

"I'm fine... no. No, I'm not." The lie didn't even last a breath before he caved. Lying to Cas was not a good plan, after all.

"What's happened?" Cas moved closer, further out of the water.

"I'm worried about you, sweetheart. Ever since Balthazar came around, you've been... you've been distracted. I know he asked you to fix Heaven, and I know you're going to be feeling guilty about not helping him, and... I didn't want you to feel like you had to fix Hell for my sake."

"It is not just for your sake, Crowley. Although Bartholomew and Malachai and Metatron are causing havoc on Earth, it is nothing compared to the collateral damage Abaddon is capable of causing. I... I do feel responsible for Heaven, but I know that we cannot fight a war on two fronts at once. I have been... I have been trying to formulate some way to make them all see sense."

"That why you're spending so much time in the shower?" Crowley asked, even though he felt like a douche the moment he said it.

"...you are worried about how long I am in here?"

"Well, you are sort of doing the 'out, damned spot' thing. Demon can't help but worry that you're trying to wash the Mark off of you."

Crowley regretted it the moment he said it, but it was true that he'd been concerned. Hot water wasn't going to wash off sin or crimes, and the last time Cas had been so obsessed with the shower had been immediately following Purgatory. And back then, Cas had been one step short of a nervous breakdown as he recovered from the damage that Sam's memories of Lucifer's Cage had done.

"Oh..." Cas turned off the water, and - a little wobbily - climbed out, grabbing one of the plush towels. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I'm not trying to wash it off, I just find it easier to think here. The sound is oddly soothing with the repetition and nonsense, and the heat is relaxing. I enjoy it because it feels comforting, and because there are no distracting phone calls, or texts, or people talking on the television. It is... it is like a little escape."

Now didn't Crowley feel stupid. "Oh. Right. Of course..."

Crowley felt a hand on his cheek, tugging his head upwards to force eye-contact. He was ever so slightly reluctant, but he did it.

"It's sweet that you worry, and I am glad that you told me, but this wasn't anything sinister, I swear. I just... enjoy processing things in here. Being a human is very different to being an angel, and I am learning by degrees what does and does not work."

"I just love you, Cas. I love you, and I don't even remember loving anyone else. And sometimes that makes me - I guess - a little paranoid about things."

Towel tied around his waist, Cas used his slightly-damp thumb to rub reassuringly at the side of the King's jaw. "I know. It's all very new to me, too. But we'll make it work, I promise. You would think after all these years that it would make sense, but... I know I have been an angel - truly an angel - and divorced from the world for longer than I have been a part of it. Not to mention the universe seems to keep throwing things between us."

"I had noticed," Crowley snorted. "Anyone would think that God didn't approve."

"I think if He was still around, he would do. I don't claim to understand everything, of course, but it seems to me that he wouldn't send His son to the Earth to die for humanity's sins, and not give demons the hope for a second chance, too."

"You really think that?"

"If God truly is love, and understanding, and forgiveness... then yes. I believe no matter what that there is still hope. Even for you, and even for Lucifer. But where you are different from Lucifer, is that you _want_ to change. You wouldn't treat people with the respect you do, and you wouldn't strive to be honest and fair, or forgive Dean for what he did to you, if you didn't have something of that soul left about you."

"But I'm a demon, Cas. I don't have a soul."

"And I'm an angel - or I was - but I'm still capable of sin."

"This... is way beyond my pay grade," the King said with a laugh that sounded worried even to his own ears.

"It's beyond all of us, Crowley. It's why we're all so confused. We've been given the whole of creation to play with, to learn our lessons from. But it's only by learning them, not by being told, that we can grow."

That made him laugh a little more sincerely, and he turned to kiss at Cas' palm. "Has anyone ever told you that you are one of the wisest and kindest beings alive?"

"Normally people call me foolish," Cas said, his smile self-deprecating.

"There's a difference between intelligence, wisdom, and common sense. You... you're a bit like an idiot savant, and I say that in the most respectful of ways. Maybe you don't understand cartoons or pop culture references or social cues like everyone else does, but you understand something else, instead."

"And what is that?"

Crowley decided to answer that with a kiss.


	33. Chapter 33

"You sure about this?" Dean asked, for what felt like the millionth time, but was probably only the third.

"I am."

"You know once we do this, that we're committed to it?"

"Dean, I know. Metatron wants me dead anyway - probably because I can translate anything else we find - so unless you plan on letting me get killed, I'm not going to be safe."

"We could fake--"

"No. Not if there could be another Prophet after me. That's how it works, according to Gadreel. Once I bite the bullet and go up to Heaven, the next Prophet would be activated. So if Metatron is stalking the other Prophets and none of them go live, then he'll know we did something. We gotta try this."

The Hunter shook his head in dismay. What was it with these young kids? It was a good plan, sure, but dangerous. "Alright. It's your choice, Kevin."

"Remind me again why we don't just let Gadreel and Sam kill Metatron, when they're close enough?" Linda asked. Dean hadn't heard her join them.

"Mom! Because of Heaven and Cas."

"You're betting on information you don't know he has, Kevin," she told him. "You're betting your life on it."

"Cas saved the world twice, Mom. You know that as well as I do. And we really don't want the angels forever stuck down here."

"He's right," Dean said. "Plus, April told Cas that since Heaven's gates were shut, it meant they were shut for everyone. I know you ain't met a ghost yet, but believe me... you don't wanna. And if that means all the good souls who should go up end up stuck down here... pretty soon Earth is gonna be even _less_ fun, and the afterlife will be even **more** of a crapsack for everyone."

Linda thought about this for a moment, and Dean didn't blame her for being pretty worried about something like this. It was a big ask of anyone, and even though Kevin was taking it all in his stride these days, it didn't get rid of the fact he was just a kid, and he was having to give everything up, risk everything, for a war he never asked to be part of.

"It is your decision, Kevin," she said. "I'll support you whatever you decide. I just want you to remember that you don't have to do any of this. Any of it. You can stop at any point you want to, and no one will think any less of you. You can't keep doing this forever."

"I know, Mom, I know. But... I gotta do this. I just... I know I do."

"I'll give you two some time," Dean suggested. Not because he thought they needed to say 'goodbye', although it was true that perhaps they did.

***

"I thought I said I wanted targets eliminating, Gadreel," Metatron said, frowning over at the angel and his captive. "That doesn't look very eliminated to me."

"I am aware that was your original order, Metatron, but I thought it might benefit you to have him in custody instead."

Kevin said nothing, because he was gagged with his hands bound before him, but he did glare up impressively at his angel kidnapper. 

"I don't _pay_ you to **think** , Gadreel. Although, I suppose I don't pay you at all, yet." A heavy, world-weary sigh. "Go on then. Explain your thinking, because this ought to be worth a laugh."

Ignoring the jibe and slight to his intelligence, Gadreel ploughed on: "If the Prophet dies, then another takes his place. I am aware that Bartholomew and Malachai both are raising armies, and they know the names of the future Prophets as well as you or I do. It was possible that they would be awaiting such an event and ready to take them into custody, and then you would be in a similar position to the one you are in now. I believed this would be more beneficial, to keep him alive."

"Right. Well, the basics are sound, but you forgot one eensy, weensy little minor technicality..." Metatron squeezed a finger and thumb to almost meet, to indicate just how small the nail missing from the horse's shoe was. "That only applies if his soul went up... or down. But as _I_ control the flow right now, I'm perfectly safe with one dead Prophet."

Well, it wasn't as if this was his real rationale behind his actions, was it, Gadreel thought in the confines of his own head. Just a step or two closer... "I was unaware that you were controlling the souls," he said, which was sort of true. April had implied that the souls were _out_ of control. After all, why would Metatron seek to reduce his own power-base by not taking souls into Heaven?

"See, that's why I'm the brains, and you're the brawn. I do the thinking," fingers splayed over his own chest, "...you do the doing." Fingers flicking out, indicating Gadreel. 

"I apologise, then," Gadreel said. "But now you have the Prophet, and this would be more leverage over the Winchesters and Castiel."

"I admit, it's not where I was going with this, but it does have a certain... poetic quality to it. Yes. After all, what is a Scribe without a Prophet? What is a story, without the person to read it, to digest it, to understand it?" Metatron tilted his head to one side, considering. "I like it. It's a good twist. It adds to the pathos of his character, and maybe he'll grow to understand me, to turn away from the false voices that have drip-fed him lies. Yes... I can make this work."

Which meant that Metatron was less likely to kill him, and just a few steps further forwards... in his grasp, Kevin squirmed and spat something from behind the gag. Gadreel held his arm tighter, because he needed to make this look good.

"You know, sometimes a writer finds his characters do things he didn't quite plan for. Sometimes they come up with twists and turns like this, they surprise you, and the story goes in a direction you didn't originally intend. Of course, it's not really the characters, it's still the writer. It's still the authorial intent behind it, but it's a nice, pathetic fallacy to imply that they have their own free will, when really it's the artistic subconscious inventing. That's creation, pure and simple. Inspiration. It's how the greatest stories are told... like you, Gadreel. You don't even know your own place in this book yet, do you?"

"I... do not understand..."

"No, you don't. You're not genre savvy, but you've been locked away so long it's not a surprise. And it wouldn't do for you to know the grand plan. That's not your arc, not to begin with. Maybe closer to the end you'll realise, when the threads all begin to tie up. You're not the hero of this story, Gadreel. At best, even in your own narrative, you're an anti-hero. Sad, isn't it?"

All this time, Metatron had been pacing closer. Closer. Close enough to... a flick of flint against striker, and he tossed the lighter down onto the circle of holy oil they'd prepared before calling for him. A flash of yellow flame that licked around his feet, pinning him in. Gadreel grabbed at Kevin's cuffed wrists, pulling the restraints off. "I don't need to be the hero, Metatron. I just need to make a difference."

The angel in the ring of fire simply shrugged, his mouth in an unhappy little line. "Really? You thought I'd fall for such a simple trick as this?"

Kevin used his now free hands to pull the gag out of his mouth. "Looks like you did. Like the sound of your own voice, don't you?"

"What can I say? Guilty as charged. But who doesn't do a little internal monologuing, from time to time? Who doesn't narrate their own fictions, to make sense of their experience of the world?"

"Metatron, you are going to help us re-open Heaven," Gadreel said, cutting off his rambling. "And you are going to restore Castiel's Grace to him."

"I am?" 

"Yes. You will help us, and we will spare your life."

The Scribe tilted his head to one side, his eyes glittering with self-satisfied amusement. "Interesting proposition. You trap me, you think that a bit of holy fire will make me give up on my ideals? Where were you coming from with this? Did you think I'd be cowed into submission?"

"You have no one here to help you, Metatron. You are at our mercy," Gadreel said. "We do not wish to resort to unpleasantries, so it is best for all concerned if you surrender."

"Besides," Kevin cut in, "...all we need to do is leave you stranded here for long enough. Someone like you? Someone who needs an audience? If you're all alone, you'll go nutso by the end of the week."

"Oh, Kevin. You really believe what they've told you, don't you?" Metatron said, his eyes flickering now to the Prophet. "You believe that I'm some Big Bad, that I'm the villain? I only wanted to _save_ my fellow angels, to restore Heaven to its former glory! To reunite all of angelkind together, and to carry out the original plan once more."

"Yeah? Well, you asked Gadreel here to kill me. That sound like something a good guy would do?"

Metatron clapped his hands together, a sheepish smile on his face. "He didn't though, did he?"

"You wanna take credit for him being a good guy? Really?"

"Showed him what his priorities were, didn't I? Not to mention I am perfectly capable of bringing you back to life at any point, Kevin. How do you know I would have left you dead once Gadreel proved himself loyal to me?"

"Enough with the duplicity and deception, Metatron. You are our prisoner, now. You will assist us in setting right what you did wrong," Gadreel snapped, sounding irate.

"Will I? Hmm... Or I could huff, and I could puff, and I could..." The angel pursed his lips, blowing a noisy gust of air, that broke through the ring of fire surrounding him. 

Alarmed, Gadreel moved to stand between Metatron and the Prophet. "Brother, do not--"

"What, Gadreel? Do not win? Is that what you want to ask me?" Then he leaned, so he could stare behind the tall vessel and angel, to the human cowering behind him. "Go ahead, do it."

Kevin was already committed to the action, though, and he slammed his palm to the bloodied sigil cut into his own shoulder. It was there as a last resort, after all, and this seemed to be the kind of thing they'd talked about. In a blinding flash, Gadreel was banished.

Gadreel was banished, but to Kevin's rising horror... Metatron remained.

"You weren't expecting _that_ trick, were you?"


	34. Chapter 34

"Well, it certainly looks good," Cecily said, trying to sound appreciative and knowledgeable, when she was fairly sure all she was looking at was an ancient jawbone with a few missing teeth. She didn't know what she'd really expected, because back when Cain had killed Abel, there had been no need for weapons, for tools to inflict pain or death. It wasn't as if he had access to fine Toledo steel. 

"It's a beauty," Develin said, wrapping it back up in the oilskin. "And a testament to man's ingenuity in using whatever is to hand."

Something like that, she reckoned. "Well, my car is just up here if you'd like to join me. Did you want to bring a chaperone?"

"Oh no, I think Mr. Macleod will take good care of me, if he wants to do business with me again in the future," the man said, airily.

Your funeral, Cecily thought. Sure, Crowley was a good and honest businessman, but not everyone was. "Yes, he really does like to keep business arrangements to people he knows and trusts," she said, which wasn't a lie. She did think 'the ones who stay alive long enough to be any use' though.

Cecily waved him towards the waiting car, but then she knew something was wrong. It was difficult to pin down precisely what it was, but something... felt off. Maybe it was a change in the air pressure, or maybe it was some old instinct that kicked in and said when you were being watched. She walked a little faster, her hand on Develin's elbow. Was he in on it? Was he trying to shake them down for more money, or stage a theft and take the money and the blade in one? Her mind was whirling through possibilities.

"Were you followed, Mr. Develin?" she asked.

"What?! Why would you say such a thing? I am an honourable business man, Miss Simmons. If there are any unsavoury individuals around, then it is you they are following, and not me. Perhaps this venture was ill-advised, and I should--"

"No! It's going to be fine. Just... come with me." She gripped his elbow more tightly, steering him faster towards the waiting black sedan. 

"Miss Simmons, I must..." 

Develin didn't get the protest out, though, before further down the road another car's headlamps flickered on, and she pushed him rapidly into the back seat. "Shush. If you want to survive, you're going to need to co-operate with everything I say," she hissed, slamming the door shut behind her. "Put your seatbelt on. Cas... please drive fast, I think we're being tailed."

"On it," Cas said, and Cecily barely had time to fasten her own buckle before the car was lurching from stock still to whatever speed made you run the risk of whiplash. 

"What is the meaning of this?" their visitor asked, sounding utterly scandalised. "Who are you people? I am a respectable--"

"Oh, cut the pretence, darling," Crowley drawled from the front seat. "We all know you're a black market fence, and you deal with pirates, smugglers and God knows who else. Well, it just so happens that what you've just bought is of significant supernatural interest, so now you're going to get a crash course in the politics of Heaven and Hell."

"You're all insane! Let me out at once!" Develin yelped, going for the door handle.

Cecily smirked as Crowley snapped all the doors locked. "No can do, I'm afraid. For no other reason than the speed we're going at, if you tried to vacate the vehicle, you would rapidly wind up requiring medical assistance, and as the Blade is still in your position, I cannot risk damaging it." 

"This is kidnap!"

"So it is. I'll make sure you get danger pay," Crowley said.

"My driving is not that dangerous," Castiel complained, banking so hard to the left that Cecily worried the car was only on two wheels. "It is simply fast."

"Castiel, love of my life, angel of my heart... your driving is somewhat less than safe."

As Cas took another corner hard - to the sound of screeching tyres and the distinct smell of burnt rubber - everyone grabbed for a handle. 

"You two are demons, and therefore fine. Develin and I will be okay if you can heal us. However, if whoever is following us catches up to us..."

"Demons?" Develin squawked out. "What is going on?"

"Nothing to worry yourself about," Cecily said, patting his knee lightly. "Just let C-- Mr. Macleod see the Blade, so we can confirm it's the real deal."

"What happened to the laboratory, and the testing?" His voice was getting higher and higher pitched as terror seeped in. 

"No need for that, if it's what we think it is," Cecily assured him, leaning over to reach inside his jacket.

Develin wrapped his arms around his torso protectively, whacking at her hands. "No! That's my only safety net! You're not taking it from me!"

"You do not need to," Cas called, as he narrowly missed oncoming traffic. Apparently the side of the road he used was now variable. "I can feel it from here."

"Yes, me too," Crowley confirmed. "So if we both can, then I'd say it's the real deal. Mr. Develin, would you accept double our initial offer, as a gesture of goodwill for the sudden--" and now the car was bumping down a wide set of stairs, the suspension screaming in protest and every step jolting them, "...joy ride?"

"Yes! Yes, whatever! Just get me somewhere safe, give me the money, and never contact me again!"

"Where is your sense of adventure?" Cas asked, as the tail end of the car caught a dumpster. The impact was enough to send the Blade - still wrapped in the oilskin - flying into the footwell of the vehicle. "I am enjoying this. It is like something out of a movie."

"I'd rather we were in a rom com," Crowley complained. "Or even a zom com."

"I think that parts of our story would class as that," Cas argued. "Especially the beginning of our relationship."

"JUST GET ME OUT OF HERE," Develin yelled.

"Temper, temper... very well," Crowley said, and snapped his fingers. Develin was suddenly gone, leaving the Blade, two demons and a once-angel behind.

"Boss! That wasn't very nice."

"Oh, I couldn't cope with all his bleating on. Anyway, now he has a very full bank account, and we have the Blade, and whoever is behind us is about to wish they'd stayed at home."

"Why?" she asked, not liking the way his smile suddenly turned sharklike.

"There's a reason they call it 'shotgun'," Crowley said, and started to wind down his window. "Bank hard right, angel, and be prepared to play chicken with Abaddon's lower level mooks. I've seen their faces, and she sent cannon fodder. They're going down."

Cecily watched with something approaching horrified awe as with a flourish, Crowley suddenly was brandishing the biggest assault rifle she'd ever seen.

"Let me show you how you use a handbrake, Cecily," Cas said. There was an even _louder_ screech, and the young demon was glad she hadn't eaten that day. She had no idea where he'd picked up all these tricks, but it was impressive, all the same. They both seemed to be having the time of their lives, and she... well. She had to admit it was kind of fun, too.

***

"I never thought you had that in you, Cas. I don't know why anything you does surprises me, now, but... that was one Hell of a ride."

The ex-angel smirked widely, allowing himself a moment to feel smug. "I had mastered the basics of driving before, but the other things I did today were things I remembered watching in movies with you, or some of it was things I have seen Dean do. It was... an interesting challenge."

"I'll say. I didn't expect the ginger bitch to be _quite_ that on the ball, but considering the idiots she sent after us, it's possible that they found us through sheer dumb luck, instead of accurate intelligence."

"If you two don't mind, I think I need to lie down in the dark for a bit," Cecily said. She was looking a little green around the gills.

"No, you should. It's been a long day," Crowley agreed. "Go put your feet up. We can work out how we're going to kill Abaddon tomorrow."

With a grateful duck of her head, Cecily bowed out to her own room.

Which left the King and his once-angel alone with the item on the table. It was still wrapped tightly in the oilskin, and neither of them wanted to be the first to look at it. Cas' eyes met Crowley's, and they seemed to come to some silent agreement. Cas walked over to it, and pulled back the wrapping.

It was old. Even without his angelic senses, Cas could tell. The thing seemed to radiate age, malice and darkness. There was blood on this weapon, old blood. It seeped into the bone, into the gaps inside the once-living tissue, and it stained it darker than any object Cas had ever been around. It felt... it felt darker, somehow, than even the Leviathans had. The Leviathans had been cruel, hungry, nasty... but in an animal cunning way. This? This was different. This was the loss of innocence, this was kinslaying. 

Worst of all, it called to him. He could feel the power coursing through it, and he could feel the way it seemed to vibrate in his presence, as if it could tell that its new keeper and wielder was close. His arm ached and burned, and it was as if a red mist came down in front of his eyes. Cas could see himself picking the weapon up and running it through Metatron's chest, not Abaddon's. He could see the light guttering in Bartholomew's eyes, could hear the way Malachai would beg for his clemency, and...

"That's enough, I think," he heard Crowley say, though the words felt like they were heard through water, or as if they came from another room, not a few feet away. He saw Crowley's hand reaching for the Blade, and he grabbed at his wrist with a growl.

"Cas!" Crowley called out, and then the King was using his other hand on Cas' shoulder, jostling him back and forth. "Hey, kitten, snap out of it. Focus. Listen to me."

With great reluctance, Cas lifted his eyes to Crowley's, and he could see concern there, but he could also imagine great pain as he wrapped his hand around the hilt and then--

Cas reeled under the slap to his face, and he took a half-step back. The sudden sting made him lurch forwards, but he was sent flying backwards into the door to their bedroom, and he shook his head, dazed. 

"I'm sorry, Cas, but I need you to snap out of it. Focus, angel, focus."

The Blade's power seemed to wane, then. Either the distance or the realisation of what he'd almost done had jostled Cas out of the sudden mood as quickly as it had descended on him. "I... I'm sorry, Crowley. I don't... I don't know what came over me."

"Well I do, it was the Blade. I thought this might happen... it's calling to you, Cas. It's been a long time since it had a champion, so it's probably hungry for blood to spill. We're going to need to keep you away from it as much as possible until you need to use it, and then find some way to get rid of it again, after. Probably back in the ocean."

"I was... I was thinking about killing you," Cas said, sounding horrified. "I don't think I would have, but I... all I could think about was the feel of blood on my hands, and the sensation of puncturing skin."

"...all good things when you direct them in the right way, but not around me, or Cecily, or those brothers, the Prophet, or... well. Anyone we like, basically."

"I... am sorry. It is fortunate you were here to intervene." Cas felt a little sick to his stomach, now he could remember at a remove how he'd felt. He hadn't even really appreciated that it was Crowley he was confronted with, and that made him feel incredibly uncomfortable. How were they going to deal with this? What use was a weapon if it made you fly into a berserker rage, and made you so bloodthirsty that you could no longer tell friend from foe? 

"Don't be, Cas. It's okay. It's... to be expected, I suppose. Cain had thousands of years to acclimatise to the Blade, and even he didn't. He threw it away and hid in a hut in the middle of nowhere for a very, very long time. You're not going to suddenly become a zen First Blade Master overnight... so don't sweat it. I'm going to put it in Cecily's room for safekeeping, and then you and I are going to bed for the night. It's tired, and the adrenaline let-down from the chase and the Blade are going to hit you soon, and you're going to crash. And hard."

"I understand," Cas said, sheepishly. He could appreciate the things Crowley was saying, but he still felt unnerved by the whole affair. "I'm going to shower. To try and calm down. You can join me if you wish, but it is not necessary."

It was, perhaps, a little obsessive-compulsive of him to keep leaping into the bathroom at the slightest provocation, but he couldn't see what else would help right now. He still felt strung out and shaky, and he still felt that gnawing hunger in the pit of his belly, but... no. Tomorrow. Crowley was right. Tomorrow... he would kill Abaddon once and for all.

"I'll be right through," his demon told him, and went to hide the blade.

Not that he could hide it well. Even from here, Cas was acutely aware of where the weapon started, and where it ended. He could feel the weight of it in his hand, despite never hefting it. He could _feel_ it.

"Get the water hot. I think we both could do with a shower tonight."

***

When Sam came to, it was to stare up at the ceiling, and at somebody towering over him. Which was unusual in and of itself. He sat up abruptly, and clutched at his head, stifling a groan. "What...? Where am I?" he asked.

"Lexington," said the clipped voice of the tall man. He was tall, maybe even as tall as Sam himself. "In a bar. It was the only place I could think to bring you that I knew would be safe."

There was something in the way the words were formed, in the way the other man stood, that was eerily familiar. "Gadreel?" Sam asked, pushing up to his feet.

"Yes. When it became clear that Metatron knew I was not on his side, the ruse of staying within you as a vessel was pointless. I realised you would want to evict me, so I brought you here, so I could safely re-enter my old vessel." The angel's eyes narrowed. "You did not consider that to be an imposition, an abuse of your body, I hope?"

"Uh... no. No, I can get why you'd want to make sure you had somewhere to go to, and you weren't floating around. And - uh - thanks for giving me back my body."

"It is your own, after all. I did not ever wish to steal it from you. This vessel was willing, and when I approached him a second time, even knowing what he did, he still was prepared to allow me into him."

"Well... that's good. Uh. I sort of remember Metatron, but it kind of got blurry. Kevin used the... KEVIN!"

"Yes, Kevin banished me, which is why you feel disorientated. It is a common side-effect, I believe. I fear that it did not work on Kevin, because Metatron... should not have been able to circumvent the holy fire."

"How in the Hell did he do that?" Sam asked. "I mean, it should have worked, right?"

"Yes, it should have. I cannot understand why it did not, unless since casting the other angels out of Heaven, he has found some way to make himself more powerful. It is... troubling."

"And now he's got Kevin." Sam said it dully, as the realisation hit. They'd planned to trick and trap Metatron, to force him to undo all the harm, but it had backfired horribly. Now they didn't have a hope in Hell of getting Gadreel in as a double-agent, and they'd lost Kevin to an angel who had asked for his head. 

"Yes. I... am truly sorry, Sam. I did not think he could do that. I accept full responsibility for the failure."

"Uh, I'm pretty sure it was a joint effort, Gadreel. You didn't have any clue he'd be able to get out of the trap like he did. I'm not going to blame you, but his mom might."

The very tall angel visibly withered, and Sam immediately regretted that. "Hey... hey. C'mon. We can sit and worry about it, or we can work out some way to save his ass, okay? Kevin's a smart kid, and he's brave, alright? He's gonna be fine. Listen to me, Gadreel. Let's get back to the Bunker so we can work out what we do next."

"Alright. I swear to you that whatever I can do to save the Prophet, I will do it. I will right this wrong, Sam Winchester. I will."

Sam could see the sudden fierceness in the angel's eyes, and he could tell he was telling the truth. Whatever Gadreel had done in the past, he was not the same angel. He'd got the same sense of him when he was inside, too, this burning need to redeem himself. Sam could empathise with that one, of course. 

Lucifer had said that Sam was made for him, that he was designed to be his. But Sam had held both the Morningstar and this other, broken angel inside of him, and he knew which one he felt more close to, and it was not the archangel.

"I know. Have you got a car? Can you drive?"

"I have, and I can."

"You drive, and I'll call Dean. We're not gonna tell Linda til we're there in person, though. This is the sort of thing you have to do face to face."


	35. Chapter 35

Inside the shower, Cas was strangely quiet. Crowley wasn't sure if it was a good sign or not, but it felt like the kind of silence that you didn't try to break, like the self-reflective peace inside of a church, or the moments following a late night, alcohol fuelled truth session, where all those things you'd bottled up for years all came spilling out into the muted, electric light of the pre-dawn world. Cas smiled at him softly as Crowley lathered him up, and then rinsed him down. In truth, he was only mildly dirty from the hair-raising car chase and shoot out, and it was more for the ritual of the cleansing, and the calming scent of soap and clean skin that they did it. 

Crowley made sure when he got to Cas' arm - the one bearing the Mark - that he washed it just as lovingly, and he lifted it to his lips to place a chaste kiss to his angel's skin. The silence carried on, and then Crowley finished cleaning them both. 

Cas was passive, but not obstructive. Crowley could tell that his angel needed to be loved, to be cared for. He always knew when Cas was craving adoration, and he was always happy to give it. Cas had done the same thing for him many times, after all, and it was no chore to do it. 

When they had finished their shower, Crowley stepped out of the bath first, holding his hand out to help his lover clamber out too. He could have snapped them dry and into robes, but instead he picked up a towel and started to rub him down. He accidentally tickled under Cas' nose, and the once-seraph giggled in a way that was so very human that it made Crowley smile, too, and it broke the solemnity of the moment. 

"Sorry," he said, sheepishly.

"Don't be. I needed to laugh."

"You could have just said, and I would have thrown you onto the bed and tickled the soles of your feet."

Cas grinned, and bent forwards to peck a light kiss to the tip of Crowley's nose. "You could throw me on the bed anyway, you know. I won't break. I might be human, but I'm not made of porcelain or glass."

"I might just do that," the demon said. He finished towelling Cas' body off, then he reached up to rub roughly over the thick, dark mop of hair. Cas yelped in mock-protest, but Crowley would not be dissuaded. "All in good time, my impatient little prince."

"I am not getting any younger, Crowley. Unlike you, I come with an expiry date, now."

"One that will be perpetually reset, if I have anything to say about it. King, remember?"

"You remind me on a regular basis," Cas agreed, and his eyes were laughing when Crowley removed the towel from his hair. 

"Well, you are very forgetful, Cas. Either that or you enjoy me using the title. A little money grabby, are we? After me for my riches and my throne? Trying to bonk your way into the royal family?"

"I _am_ the royal family, you uncivilised oath," Cas protested. "Now are you taking me to bed or am I going to order room service and make you sleep on the chaise longue all night?"

This was better. This was closer to normal. Crowley had missed this good-natured sniping, this easy way they had around one another. The world kept trying to get in the way of his happiness, but it couldn't keep him away from his angel for any length of time. He'd waited countless years to find him, and now he had, that was it. He knew there would never be anyone else for him, and he was sure Cas felt the same. After all, both of their worst nightmares had been the pair of them separated, and some other things on the side. Crowley could remember with gut-wrenching clarity how he had felt in the unreal world of Castiel's betrayal. This reality was better by far.

"Come here, little Prince of Hell," he said, bending one knee and scooping Cas up in his arms.

"If I am the Prince, doesn't that mean I am your son?"

"Do you want me to call you 'Queen', Cas? Because I will."

"How about 'King's Consort'?" Cas asked. "You can't have two Kings, can you?"

"If you wanted to be called King, I would call you that, my heart. If you wanted me to call you 'God', I would, but I have a feeling after your last sojourn that it's not such a pleasant joke any more."

Cas managed a smile at that, and wrapped his arms around Crowley's neck. "Whatever you call me, I will answer. If you call me 'kitten' and nothing more, I will answer. Only keep me by your side forever, and I will be content."

It was a semi-serious conversation, for all the levity in the way they discussed it. "I mean it, Cas. I would call you King, too. I would call you Emperor, I would call you anything."

"Does that mean... you'd call me Mr. Macleod?" Cas teased.

"If making an honest man of you would make you happy, I would. But we don't need vows and words exchanged, unless you feel you want it." 

Which was sort of a proposal, only not.

"I do not think I want a traditional wedding, if that's what you're implying, though... an exchange of vows might be nice. After all, God already knows I love you, and there is no court in the world that recognises either of us even exists. It would just be for us."

"If there are words I can say which will make you happy, then I will say them, Cas. And mean them, too." Crowley saw how Cas' smile blossomed wider, and he couldn't help but feel his own mouth curl in response. God damnit, but he was head over heels for this fool. He carried Cas over to the bed and laid him carefully down, moving to crouch down low over his feet.

"What would you say to me?" Cas asked. "Now seems as good a time as any. The world could end tomorrow, or one of us could lose their mind, or any number of calamities could befall us."

Crowley kissed the inside of Cas' ankle. "What would I say? Well. I would promise to love and cherish you, from now until the end of time." He kissed higher, working his way up to the bend of Cas' knee. "I would promise to do all I could to make you feel special, because you are. To make you feel how beautiful, kind and wonderful a gift you are to me." 

Cas parted his legs slowly, almost shyly, moving them around Crowley. "You say the nicest things to me."

"You deserve them, and more, Cas. I mean every last word," he said, moving to put his hands astride the angel's hips. "I promise to love you, and only you. To give you all my heart, and all my days, and all my nights. I promise to try to be a better demon for you, to be understanding, and to help you to grow. I can't promise I will always get it right, but I can promise I will always try."

Cas' eyes were glittering in the muted light coming from the lights that shone up the walls, and Crowley couldn't help himself. He surged up and kissed him quickly on the lips, but he didn't manage to get clear, because a hand shot up to wrap around the back of his neck, holding him in place. "My turn," Cas said, his voice gruff with emotion.

"Please, be my guest," Crowley replied. His own heart felt sort of painfully full and heavy, and his stomach skipped like there was a whole butterfly house taking up residence there.

"I promise to love and cherish _you_ , Crowley. I promise to love you with all my heart, with all my Grace, my soul, whatever it is I have. I promise to do everything within my power to make you see how wonderful _you_ are. I may have been made an angel, but you? You surmounted even Hell itself. You didn't let damnation ruin you, and you're the strongest person I have ever met, and one of the kindest, too."

Crowley tried to pull back, embarrassed by the sudden outpouring, but Cas' grip was like a vice. He lifted his own, damp eyes, finding himself lost in Cas' beautiful blues. 

"I promise to give you all of me, whatever I am. I promise to protect you to my last breath. I promise to support you, to follow you, and to stand side by side with you, no matter what. You are my soulmate, Crowley. You were made for me, and I for you. I will never let you feel that you are any less, because you are a demon. You are more than that, you are... you are the whole world to me. I wish I knew better how to say it, but words have never been my strong suit, and actions have."

"You damned fool," Crowley said, choking on the term of endearment. "Your words are just perfect, Cas. Just like you are. Now can we please agree we've said enough?"

"If you're happy, then of course I am, too," Cas said, and pulled Crowley closer. "So kiss me. Please, my King, kiss me. The world feels better when you do."

Crowley did not need to be asked twice, and he put a hand on either side of Cas' face, holding him still as he kissed him fiercely and hungrily, scraping his teeth over his lip, but not biting. He didn't want to bite, because he wanted it to be clear that he didn't need his blood, and because they had enough pain in their life anyway. Cas kissed him back, and he could feel the blunt stab of Cas' swelling interest prodding at his belly. He rocked just a little against him, trapping it between them, and gently teasing his arousal higher. There was no rush for this, and they did not need to get up for quite some time yet, so there was no pressure to hurry this along. He rocked against him again, enjoying the hiss against his lips.

"Let's seal our words with our actions," Crowley suggested, his hands sliding down over Cas' throat, over his chest, down his arms. "You know I am a demon of my word, and any deal I make, I keep."

"Me too. That nightmare of me was not me. It might have been, once. It could have been me, if I hadn't learned how to be a better person in your arms."

The demon started to trail kisses over Cas' jaw, up to his temple, and he purred deep in his throat as fingers splayed over his scalp, teasing through the short hair on his skull, finding the places where - when touched - made his feet drum on the bed. He put his hands down on Cas' shoulders, grinding harder down against the erection he could feel trapped between them.

"I just showed you who you really were, Cas, like you showed me. Neither of us changed, we just... became who we were supposed to be."

"I like that," Cas said, placing a kiss to the crease at the side of his eye. "You always have such a way with that tongue of yours."

"Is that a request?" he asked, a little lewdly. 

"Not tonight. I want to hear you, tonight. I want to hear your breath catch, and you call my name."

That sent a shiver all the way down Crowley's spine, and he moved fast. He put one foot flat on the bed, and the opposite hand, bearing his weight so he didn't crush Cas. Then he read between them, taking first Cas' cock in hand, and then finding his own. With care, he held them together, and then started to stroke smoothly up and down. "Like this, my Consort?"

Cas was too busy hissing, his eyes unfocussed with pleasure. He pushed his fingers into the mess of hair at the back of Crowley's head, the other hand gripping Crowley's bicep, feeling it flex. "God, yes, Crowley. Like that. Don't stop. Please, _please_ don't stop."

Crowley liked him begging, he liked the note of desperation and surrender in Cas' rich, chocolate liqueur voice. He twisted his hand on the stroke down, even though it was maddeningly good for him, too. "I won't," he said, a note of hysteria creeping in. "I won't ever stop."

The once-angel was writhing, now, squirming into his touches, chasing his rhythm like a mad thing. He was pinned down, like this, but that didn't mean he couldn't try to fuck Crowley's hand. One of these days they were going to have to try sixty-nineing, Crowley knew, but it never seemed to happen because at least one of them always wanted to make noise, and the other listen. He memorised every little hiccuping breath, every cut of air against his teeth, every guttural, broken sob. This was ridiculously sexy, but it was sexy because it was _Cas_ and because it _meant something_ , and he was fairly sure Cas could read him a recipe for bagels and it would sound sexy right now.

"You're going to ne-ee-- ah, Crowley, don't--"

"Don't what?" he asked, with a particularly firm stroke down, followed by an agonisingly tight tug back up again, the kind that made Cas' eyes roll up and almost into the back of his skull. "Don't love you as good and hard as you deserve?"

"Crowley, I can't - I won't - I mean, if you - it's hard!"

The demon chuckled. "I can feel that, darling. You've barely been harder, even as an angel."

"Fucking... no! I mean: keeping a - _ohnothat'snotfairthat's **cheating**_ ," Cas complained, just as Crowley used his fingernails. Cas rarely swore, so getting such language out of him was an accomplishment in and of itself.

"Funny, I missed it when the Geneva Convention covered sexual warfare," Crowley scoffed, pleased that his angel had started to leak precum, now. His poor dick was begging for the end, for some release, some closure. Crowley would give it to him - to both of them - but not before he was ready.

"Please, Crowley, please," Cas begged him, his voice sounding frustrated, but pleased. Crowley knew the feeling. 

He stroked them harder, then harder, then harder. Cas' kisses got more frantic, raining down over his cheeks, his throat, his collarbone, and Crowley could feel each one lingering after his lips were raised. He was close, too. More from the emotional charge than anything else, more from the soft little 'yes'es, the fractured 'Crowley's and the soft, animal grunting. 

"You are so very, very special, Cas, and I don't deserve you," the King confessed. "I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to remember you got the wrong demon.. but not any more. I'm sorry I've been jealous. I'm sorry I've been an ass. You be friends with Sam and Dean all you want, just... be happy, Cas. Be happy."

"I am," Cas insisted, now just riding Crowley's palm like the world depended on it. "I am happy. So happy. Christ, Crowley... just _do it_!"

He laughed at that, and it was the laugh of weight lifting from his chest, of closeness and adoration and self-content. It was a laugh of a demon who was happy with the world, and he stroked higher, and harder, and faster... until the only sound in their shared room was the sudden wall-banging screaming of an angel in climax. Crowley kept on stroking as Cas' dick slowly stopped spurting, though the additional lubrication made it just that little bit easier to chase his own orgasm. Cas was whispering his name like a prayer, over and over, and Crowley was smiling as widely as the sun shone bright, following him over the edge.

Spent, he took a moment to recuperate before flinging them sideways on the bed, legs tangled, hands clasped, head on chest and nose in hair. He breathed him in, as if the very smell of him would keep him going.

"I do love you, you know," Crowley felt the need to say. "Not just in the heat of the moment. Always, Cas."

"I know," Cas said, and pushed his forehead to the demon's. "I know. Me too."

Crowley just held him, then, stroking his arm soothingly, listening to his breathing slow, and slow, and slow until he knew Castiel was asleep. Good, he thought. Not because he wanted the silence, but because he wanted Cas to have it. Cas needed a good, restful sleep, and he knew he'd get it, now, safe in his arms.

He felt good, too. Better than he could remember in the longest time. Doubtless tomorrow would find yet more things to track down, more people hunting them or trying to kill them, but for now... for now he could pretend it was all already done.


	36. Chapter 36

"Well, Kevin, welcome to my study." 

Kevin growled under the gag between his teeth, and what he said in response was not polite.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me get that for you... terrible thing to be silenced, isn't it? To not be able to tell your side of the story. To be muzzled..." 

The Prophet rolled his eyes, but didn't growl any more insults out as Metatron undid the knot behind his head. He spat out the tie, running his tongue over his chafed lips. 

"I know you're not going to like me to begin with, but in time you'll see. You're a smart kid, and whatever lies they've been telling you, you'll see that I'm actually quite loveable."

It was impossible to let that slide. "You tried to kill me!"

"No, Gadreel nearly killed you. I simply sent him. Semantics, I know, but it's important."

"He wasn't going to try to kill me if you didn't ask him to," Kevin insisted. "Why the Hell should I listen to a word you say? You lied to Cas, you'll lie to me."

"Oh, Kevin. I know you're still a young whippersnapper, but you're not as naïve as all that, are you? Sometimes you have to tell little white lies to move things along. I know, I know... it's wrong, but we don't live in an ideal world, and you sometimes have to nudge people to get them to see the bigger picture. You have to see what's more important: a little black mark on someone's ledger, or Heaven itself?"

"Well I'm not all that clued up on how God judges sin, but I'm pretty sure that there's a saying about the road to Hell?"

"See! That's why I like you. Not only can you read, but you _have_. Do you have any idea how dull it is talking to angels who don't understand metaphor? Allegory? Who think that a trope is some form of foodstuff? They're all such literal creatures, they don't understand _art_."

"Why have you kidnapped me?" Kevin asked, trying to derail the sudden, very boring monologue. Metatron clearly liked the sound of his own voice, and that would be useful later if he needed to keep him talking in order to stall, or just keep himself alive.

"...'Kidnapped' is such a strong word, Kevin. No... you're insurance, you see. You'll keep those brothers from an all-out assault on me, and you'll be my foil. You see, I'm not the villain of this piece, but if it helps you to think of it in terms of 'Wicked', then you're seeing a different slant on the affair. I'm doing this to save Heaven."

"By throwing everyone out of it?"

The angel shook his head, eyes rolling up towards the sky. "You've lead a very sheltered life, you know. You've seen things from a narrow perspective, but that's okay. You've not been alive as long as I have, and you have a human way of seeing things. Heaven? It's never been the same, not since God left. The angels have been squabbling about like lost little children, and like lost little children they've broken their toys, they've had their little tantrums, and they've made a terrible mess. Heaven isn't what it was, and not even the archangels had the common sense or skill to keep everyone in line."

"But you can?"

"Precisely. I've kept myself out of the limelight for years, just getting along peacefully, but now I see I was wrong to do that. It was selfish of me not to use my talents to help settle things. But... can you blame me?"

"Why the sudden change of heart? You didn't grow a conscience. Is it because you wanted to take advantage of the mess?"

Metatron put a hand on his chest, his eyes hurt. "Oh, how you wound me! Look. I'm just a little old Scribe. I'm no archangel. I'm no Michael, no Raphael or Gabriel... certainly no _Lucifer_. But now the big boys have all worn themselves out, and the other angels can see they weren't the leaders they thought they were, it's time for someone with more brains than brawn to take the wheel."

"And you're going to do that... how?"

The angel waved at his office. "Take a look around, Kevin. I've already started."

"By kicking everyone out?"

"I'm not going to explain everything all at once. What would happen if you - somehow - escaped? I'd have told you all my secrets, and you could use them against me. Plus, there's such a thing as suspense. No... I will reveal all in due course. It will all make sense by the end, and then you'll wonder why you never worked it out beforehand. That's how all the best stories are told. In the meantime, you are my guest, here. I'll make sure you're well looked after, and in return you will be my audience, my interpreter. It really is a very good twist. I'll take the credit, of course, because it was me who sent Gadreel. His story is an interesting one, full of symbolism and arcs. He's another anti-hero type, but I digress... come with me, I will show you to your room."

"Right." He was nuts, Kevin decided. Really nuts. Not that he knew all that many angels, but Gadreel and Castiel both seemed much more... normal? Than this guy. "You just gonna lock me in a room?"

"What? How utterly barbaric! No, I'll give you some books to keep you company. After all, stories are what sets us apart from the animals. Art is how we make sense of the universe, and a good book is a portal to a whole other dimension."

"...I was thinking more of an Xbox, but... okay. Sure."

"Kids today... although I suppose a well written game has scope for some storytelling, it's just really not the same." Metatron snapped his fingers, and they were suddenly in whatever passed for his version of a guest room, the walls lined with bookshelves. "I recommend something meaty. 'Paradise Lost' is probably too much of a cliché, but you might enjoy 'Good Omens' or 'American Gods'. Gaiman is a particular favourite of mine."

"I'm sure I'll find something."

"I'll make sure you're fed, too. Now, I'll let you settle in. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Metatron blipped back out, and Kevin was left wondering precisely _how_ he would ask. A quick scoot around the room revealed there really was nothing but books. He didn't really want to give Metatron the satisfaction of taking his recommendations, so he ran his fingers over the spines until one of them called to him. 'Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers', one of them proclaimed, and there were what appeared to be stars in the night sky on the dust cover. It was better than nothing, so he pulled it out and went over to the bed to read.

***

"I thought you said the holy fire would trap him?!" Linda insisted, and it was only Dean's hand on her elbow that kept her from charging straight into Gadreel's face. She shook it off, glaring at him.

"It should have, I am sorry. I have never heard of such a thing happening before," the angel said, his head lowered with shame. 

"Gadreel's right, Mrs. Tran," Sam added. "It even held Gabriel, and he was an archangel. Metatron is just a regular angel, so it should have held him no problem."

"Well it didn't! And now he's got Kevin!"

"We're gonna find a way to rescue him," Dean said, and he narrowed his eyes at the angel, back in his original vessel. It was good that he was out of Sam, now, because that had been unsettling to say the least. 

"How? You don't even know where he's taken him! And if he's in Heaven, how do you propose getting up there? And even if you do, how will you defeat him, if he's somehow immune to angel things?"

"There's angel blades," Sam said. "And if that doesn't work - which it should--" he added that a little hurriedly. "...then there's Cas and the First Blade. If it can kill a Knight of Hell, then maybe it can kill him, too."

"There are too many 'ifs' in your plans, Sam Winchester," she said, hands on her hips.

Sam fought a sudden, unexpected pang at that. Linda was a good mom, and it was something he'd seen from afar, or in stories, but never experienced for himself. Kevin was lucky to have such a good mother. "I know. And I'm sorry, but this is... this is just how it happens sometimes."

"Crowley said this would happen."

"What?" Dean asked.

"He said that one day, something like this would happen. Kevin's done nothing but try to help you, and where has that got him? An assassin sent to kill him, and then kidnapped by another angel. When will it stop? It won't, will it? Not until he's dead."

"None of us choose this life," Dean countered. "You think we woke up one morning and decided we wanted to run around hunting monsters, stopping the end of the world, fighting the Devil?"

"I know _Sam_ didn't," Linda said, turning to him. "You wanted a normal life. Kevin told me. He told me you were at Stanford. You had a chance for a normal life, but you got dragged back in. You have to get my son back, and you have to give him the opportunities that you never had. Please, Sam, I'm begging you. He's a good boy, he doesn't deserve this."

"I know... and when we get him back, if that's what he wants... then we'll do what we can to help you and him move on, Mrs. Tran, I promise," Sam replied. "But we didn't force him to go. It was his own choice."

"Sam is correct," Gadreel added. "Kevin knew how important this was. He did not go with me lightly. I appreciate that you feel he is unfairly in danger, but life is dangerous, even if you do not face greater powers. If Kevin chooses to make those decisions, if he believes that the risk is worth the reward, then you must honour his choices. He is an intelligent young man."

"He's impressionable, is what he is. He looks up to you two. Without his father, he's never had a strong male role-model, and you come with your guns and your ends of the world, and you tell him he's special, and of course he's going to do what you ask!"

"No offence, Linda, but he's not an idiot." Dean tried to keep his voice level, even though it was getting increasingly difficult. "You really think he's doing all this to impress us? Maybe some of it, but not all of it. He knows what's happening in the world, now. He knows what could happen, maybe as good as me and Sam do. He's read God's word. Now we could argue about whether it's right or wrong, but that won't bring him back. So instead, why don't we call Cas, and tell him what's happened, and see if we can find some way to sort this out. Alright?"

"Fine. I'm going to read through his notes again. Maybe there's something we missed."

She didn't wait for an answer, but Dean didn't blame her. He'd have been pissed, too.

"So... this gonna be your suit from now on?" he asked Gadreel, when it was just the three of them.

"He was happy for me to enter him again, so I believe I will remain, yes," the angel answered. "I am grateful for you both trusting me in Sam's body, but it was not a long-term solution. There is also still some damage to your body, Sam. I believe I can be of assistance still in healing you, if you consent?"

"Sure. I feel fine, but if you think I need more, then... go for it, man."

"You said you didn't think Metatron was gonna kill Kevin?"

Gadreel shook his head. "I do not, and that was not a lie to make his mother feel better. I believe - from what he said - that he intends to try and turn Kevin to his favour. It is how he has worked on both me and Castiel in the past. He does not seem to like to get blood on his own hands, but instead to make others do his 'dirty work' for him."

"I agree," Sam added. "He seems kind of more Machiavelli than murderous. Obsessed with stories. I guess it makes sense, from what you've said about him in the past. And with Kevin being the Prophet, he's probably in his element."

"We gotta hope Kevin's smart enough to stay useful to him, then. I think we should call Balthazar as well as Cas. We're gonna need all the help we can get."


	37. Chapter 37

"So now we just need to work out how to--" Crowley saw how the colour drained from Cecily's face, and his words trailed off. "What is it?"

She held up her phone, and he saw with horror the name on the screen: 'Scotty'. It was not a funny joke. 

"What should I do?" she asked.

"Give it to me. I don't think it's a call you want to take."

There was a pause, then Cecily handed him her phone. Cas - bless him - walked over to her, and started to shepherd her out of the room. Crowley was glad, because he already suspected who would be on the other end of the line.

"Hello, bitch," he said, cheerily, the minute the other two were out of earshot.

" _Hello, Crowley. Miss me?_ "

"Like a hole in the head. I mean, in addition to the ones I already have, which are useful. Unlike you, who is not."

" _If you have to explain a joke, it kills it, you know_."

"I thought your very existence was known to be a joke, but oh well."

" _Have you done with the witty banter, or do you need some more before you feel satisfied about your virility?_ "

"Frankly, you aren't worth my best material. I save that for people who have more than two brain cells to rub together. Was there a reason for the phone call, or were you just wanting to swap cupcake recipes?"

" _Please, Crowley. I know what you've been trying to do_."

"Do you, now?"

" _Those were my people in the truck. You know, the ones you brutally executed. Didn't think you had it in you. I was half expecting you to offer them tea and biscuits_."

"Oh, darling, at that time of night it's not tea and biscuits. You've never had English hospitality, have you?"

" _I was too busy being a real demon, you petty little fool_."

"Well there's no need to be rude, just because you're an uncouth shit. Yes, I've been busy. If you think I'm going to sit back and watch you ruin Hell--"

" _...'Ruin' Hell?_ " She laughed, and it was a horrible sound. " _You mean: 'restore to its former glory', surely. And it won't work. I have control of the infernal realms, and that's how it's going to stay_."

"So why did you call me then, unless you're worried? Did you think maybe you could cow me into submission? Psych me out somehow? Or were you calling to try and broker a deal? Because I can tell you now it won't work: you are going down, Abaddon. Your brief interregnum is about to end. The rightful King will be restored, and Hell will once again be a smooth, well-oiled machine."

" _See, this is where you fall down, Crowley. Hell is not a machine - not even a business - it simply **is**. And someone like you, someone as blind and deaf as you could never fully appreciate it. You're a lowly sales assistant who took over when the boss was out test driving one of the automobiles_."

Crowley clenched his hand into a fist, then let go. Twice. "You do not understand the improvements I have made, but I don't expect you to. You're worse than a Hellhound: at least they know their place. You? You're a brute, hunting the dodos to extinction and then wondering where all the easy pickings went. Demons like you destroy the ecosystem."

" _Give me the Blade, and I'll let you, your bitch and your angel go. The Winchesters are mine, and I'll put you three somewhere safe, but happy. That's my offer, Crowley. It's the only one you'll get_."

So he had her. Why else would she offer a 'deal' - which she likely had no intention of upholding - if she wasn't worried? "Really? Doesn't sound like you."

" _Oh, I'll make sure the three of you never cause me any more problems, but you'll be together_."

"Mind if I take a rain check? I'm washing my hair tonight. And tomorrow."

" _I won't offer this again, Crowley. You accept now, or I will drag every last inch of your entrails out, and let them decorate the floor of my new office. Not until I've done the same thing to your pet bluebird, first. I'm creative, you know. Very creative_."

"I look forward to seeing your next art project when you bring it home to stick it to the fridge. But for now... I'll be going. Toodles!"

She didn't like being dismissed, then, he thought. She liked to feel she was in control of the situation, and even coming to him at all probably stuck in her craw like poison. Crowley hung up the call on his end, then tapped the phone's case to his lips in thought. "It's okay to come out, now," he called.

Cas was the only one to leave Cecily's room, and the King threw a questioning look at the door. Cas shook his head once to say 'don't ask', and Crowley decided to trust his judgement.

"She's panicking," he told his partner. "Wanted to offer me a deal: put us in protective custody in exchange for the Blade and the brothers Wincest."

"She offered a deal?" Cas sounded incredulous.

"I know. We've really got her on the back foot. I think she must know the jig is almost up. And frankly, you have no idea how much I want to see the look of self-righteous anger and despair on her smug little face when you run her through. I don't normally opt for violence as the first solution, but in her case I'll make an exception."

Cas moved to sit on the couch, drawing one leg up underneath him, his fingers curling around his ankle. "I suppose this rules out any element of surprise, then. Although if you had agreed to a deal, she would have been expecting you to turn it into a trap."

"She'd expect _anything_ to be a trap, and she'd be right to. But what I was thinking instead was to catch her completely unawares."

The ex-seraph sat up a little higher at that. "By...?"

"Taking the fight right to her. I still have contacts, ones she doesn't even know about."

"Are we going to ask Sam and Dean for help? They have issues with the Prophet and Metatron right now."

"I know they do, but I think they'll still help out. I'm going to need you to call in a few favours as well."

"...from?"

"From any angel you still trust."

Crowley knew it wasn't going to be a long list, but it was longer than his own, which currently ended with Cas. 

"I'll start with Balthazar. For some reason, he still trusts me, no matter what's happened. He is a good friend."

"Call him up, we're doing this today."

***

"You really sure this is a good idea?" Dean asked, looking at the assembled crew. It was a terrible mish-mash of Hunters, de-winged angels, a handful of Reapers and not very many demons. 

"I am sure," Crowley replied, his voice level. "Abaddon will be expecting some form of an attack, but she won't be expecting it on several fronts, and she certainly won't be expecting a bi-partisan approach like this." 

"That's because this is the most insane group of degenerates I've ever seen banded together," Balthazar complained. "Really? You want to take angels and Hunters in to assassinate a Knight of Hell?"

"The enemy of my enemy better start running," Crowley scoffed. "You all know she's bad news. She's bad news for Hell, for Earth and even for Heaven. I know we don't always stand on the same side of no man's land, but there are times when you have to set aside your differences for the greater good. This is bigger than any disagreements we've had in the past, no matter how major or fundamental. Everyone in this room I trust implicitly to know what needs to be done."

"Okay, can the speechifying, Churchill. We get it, this is 'bigger than us'. This isn't the first battle royale we've been to."

"Our plan is to team people up, so that each group has similar abilities," Cas explained. "The angels will be able to heal and to smite, the demons, Reapers and Hunters will be there to cause damage and injury. Abaddon herself is impossible to kill without the First Blade, so you are reminded not to engage her if you encounter her."

"Gotcha. See the ginger, run away," Balthazar summed up. "And run towards you and your special knife, I take it?"

"Precisely."

"What should we expect to encounter?" Gadreel asked. "Unlike some of those here, I have never been to Hell."

"It depends on how much she's changed things," Crowley said, and eyed some of the demons in the room. "I'm guessing she's tried redecorating à la Lucifer's heyday, which means it's going to be the stereotypical vision of the pit, all fire, brimstone, blood-streaked walls and the like... there's going to be a lot of demons who are undecided, then some who are loyal one way or the other. As I said, the ones I know for certain to be reliable are here, but that doesn't mean every demon you meet will be unfriendly."

Dean snorted at that, and rolled his eyes. Not helpful, Crowley thought with an internal sigh. "I know it's not ideal, Dean."

"No, it's just the thought of helpful demons. I wasn't exactly expecting to turn up and ask for directions to her throne room."

Oh. Well. He actually let out a little chuckle at that. "You're quite right. In addition, I've got control of all the Hounds. They will be helping out in the assault, so if you can't see them and one goes rushing past, do not worry. I know for a fact that they all follow me. Now... do we have any more questions?"

"Yes," Balthazar piped up. "Is there going to be a knees up after? I've always wanted to party down in Hell. It sounds fun."


	38. Chapter 38

Cas was surprised that Dean had picked Gadreel over Balthazar as their angel companion. Admittedly Balthazar and the brothers had never been particularly amicable, but they _had_ asked him for help in the past. Cas was just baffled that Dean would be so quick to accept an angel who had lied to him, who had caused such problems with the world. It made him hope that their reconciliation would deepen, and that they would move on from all the mistakes on both sides.

Gadreel, for his part, seemed to be a sombre but intense angel. Cas had never met him before that day in the dungeon of the Bunker, but he'd heard the stories. And although he'd tried to kill Crowley, he found he wasn't so much angry with him as he was grieved on his behalf. He did not seem to be cruel, or malicious or selfish... he just seemed to be a little lost. Not all that different from himself.

Their little party was one of the biggest, at four strong: himself, Crowley, Dean and Gadreel. Sam had argued for coming with them, but Crowley had vetoed it as not wanting to wind up too unwieldy a number, and because the distraction teams had to be strong enough to keep going, too. Cas did sort of wish that Sam was with them as well, but he understood the reasoning.

"It's not going to be the Hell you remember," Crowley said, walking up close with the Blade tucked under one arm. Cas was uncomfortably aware of every square inch of air between him and it, of how the handle felt, of the weight and balance of it. It was like a perfect sense memory and a hunger all in one, and it made it hard to focus on the words his King was saying.

"Sorry?" he said, when he realised he'd been standing and staring at the bundle Crowley was carrying. 

"I said, 'It's not going to be the Hell you remember', Cas. But that's okay, because there's nothing she can break beyond my power to fix. I just... don't want you to lose faith when you see the mess."

"I have been in Hell before," he reminded Crowley. "When I freed Dean, and when I freed Sam - even if I left his soul by mistake - I have seen the 'bad' sides to Hell." He'd been an angel, then, though. He hadn't been so at the mercy of his bodily senses, and he realised that it might be different this time around. 

"I know, kitten... I'm just..."

And then Cas realised that Crowley was offering these reassurances for himself, as much as for Cas. He reached over, willing himself to ignore how close he got to the Blade - and squeezed his arm. "It will be fine. You will fix everything. You made Hell work after Lucifer, and she is nothing like Lucifer. I know this will all come out fine in the end, Crowley. I believe in you."

That got him a little choked smile, and Crowley was dabbing at the corners of his eyes with his thumb. "I'm supposed to be giving _you_ the pep-talk, not the other way around."

"We can do it for each other," Cas said. "Now... I think we have waited long enough. Will you...?"

The King started to unwrap the old jawbone, and Cas felt the way his eyes sharpened in on it, and only it. The rest of the world seemed like it was almost in soft focus, his attention honed in on it. He knew he'd not feel good again until he had it in his grasp, so he curled his fingers around the old handle, and immediately he could feel the pounding of his heart. Bu-dum, bu-dum. It was like it was made to fit his hand, and he wondered if it was truly so, or if magic reshaped it to the fingers that touched it. A slow, heavy breath in as he got used to it, like it was an extension of his own body. Like he could feel the world around it, as surely as he could around his own hand. A swish, for balance, and then he met Crowley's eyes.

"I am ready," he said. And he was.

***

As Crowley has gathered, Hell was utterly different. Instead of the orderly, perpetual lines and the lean, trim processes... it was back to being chaos. It hit Cas' senses the moment they arrived, and it was all he could do not to reel backwards.

Smell. It was smell, more than anything else. The air felt hot, like it was no longer air, and instead it was all steam and smoke, and even though he didn't seem to be suffering from lack of oxygen, no matter how many gulping breaths he pulled in, it still felt like he was going to drown standing on his own two feet. The heat was the next thing, like a heavy blanket that made moving feel almost impossible, and it set so many alarm bells ringing in his body's primitive hindbrain that he nearly locked down. 

Dimly, Cas was aware of a hand on his shoulder, a voice in his ear, and he turned his head towards the source of it. Everything was dark, and a mixture of black, red, and the colours that fired across the back of his eyes in this dim light, as if his mind couldn't cope with the lack of visual stimulus, and put its own in the gaps. With effort, he focussed on Crowley, and worked out that he was asking if he was okay, and slowly pushing back at the encroaching darkness. 

To the other side, he could see Dean was reeling, too. Cas had been in Hell - this kind of Hell - twice, but now he realised that Dean had spent a whole lot longer here, and this was probably causing him to remember the years upon years of torture under Alastair's hands. The angel in the tall vessel beside him was glowing slightly around the edges, as if he hoped to somehow cast back the filth with the light of his Grace. As Cas watched, Dean straightened up, nodding a thanks at Gadreel, and barking at him to stop sticking out like a glow stick at a Scout party.

Yes, Dean was feeling better.

"Do you know where we will find her?" Cas asked, hearing how the pit seemed to swallow his voice up. It didn't hit any walls and bounce back, it was just like the words carried on forever after they were spoken. 

"I have an idea, yes," Crowley said. "I brought us in as close as I could. We're going to round that corner," and he pointed to a corner that Cas wasn't sure had been there a moment ago, at least not visibly so, "...and there's going to be one Hell of a large number of demons waiting for us. So I've called for some backup."

There was a low, growling noise then, and the sensation of matted fur that brushed against the fingers of Cas' hand. He'd seen the Hounds of Hell plenty of times as an angel, and it felt strange to encounter them as a human, now. The low, growling noise in their throats was disconcerting, and he found himself trying to count their voices.

"We'll go up front," Dean said, addressing Gadreel. "Clear a path for you. Remind your Fluffy not to chew on us."

"Much as he would love some payback for the last time you and he butted heads, Growley is a big enough boy not to need revenge. Your perfectly pert posterior is safe in his paws."

"And myself?" Gadreel asked.

"They're used to angels," Cas reassured him. "I came down here often. I did not socialise with them, but they knew not to attack me. I am sure you will be fine, brother."

"This is good to know."

There was no point in delaying any longer, not when the longer they were here, the more chance that one of their friends in the other groups would be injured. Cas knew it was a courtesy to him, so he pulled himself together, and nodded at Dean. 

The Hounds seemed to know what was happening, too, and Cas wondered if Crowley could communicate with them telepathically, because all of a sudden they were bounding past in a flurry of claws clicking on stone, tails wagging bodily against one another, and howls of bloodlust. It was heartening in a strange way, and then all four of them were running after them. 

Everything seemed to go in a blur, then. It was surreal watching the Hounds fight, or 'not watching', would probably be closer to the truth. One moment there would be a demon bearing down on the group, and the next he would see the throat ripped open and the arterial spray would splatter everywhere. Some would land on the Hounds, and then Cas could make out parts of their outlines as bloodied full spaces charged around. Dean, of course, was a natural at this and he dispatched demon after demon. Even Gadreel seemed to be getting the hang of it, because there were flashes of heavenly blue Grace as he smote the smoke right out of Abaddon's minions.

Crowley, for his part, stayed glued to Cas' left hand side, leaving his right hand and the Blade free. Irritatingly, anything that came close, Crowley's faster senses picked up on and he stabbed them with the angel blade he carried, leaving the dead meatsuits for them to stride over as they went on. The Blade seemed to feel the injustice of it, and it made his arm heavier and heavier, like there was a spring inside that was coiling up. 

Then - oh then - there were so many that Crowley couldn't _hope_ to hold them off. In the distance, Cas heard Dean grunt in pain, but it was as if it was underwater, and the whole world was in slow motion. He could hear the demons' hearts beating like a clarion call, and it was all he needed to focus his attack. In went the Blade, and light flared around his hand as the demon died, but Cas didn't pause. He pulled the Blade out, ripping the meatsuit's innards out, and went onto the next one. It felt good. It felt more than good. It felt like he was supposed to be doing this, like he was born to it: his own heart was pounding in his chest, and his blood surged through him, like it was pouring into places long dormant. His skin felt electric, the air suddenly crisp like mountain skies, though he could taste the blood that was spilling everywhere, and it felt like biting into an orange and feeling the sharp citrus juice flood his mouth. 

When the last one fell to his feet, Cas was casting around for another target. He could almost _see_ the Hounds, now, because he was eerily aware of anything alive - or almost alive - and it was only the fact he knew they were _friend_ that he didn't launch at any of the members of their party.

"Cas," he heard. "Cas... come on. Keep moving. She can't be far away."

**She**. He knew that **she** was the target. The anger he had felt, anger he had misdirected when he'd thought she was responsible for his King's death, when instead it should have been Dean and Sam he hated for their false imprisonment... all of that came surging to the forefront, and he charged ahead. It was almost as if he had some inner radar, like a bird homing in on the roost, and maybe he did. He didn't recognise the physical layout of this place, but he suspected that the bitch would choose to put her seat of power over the previous incumbent's. **Home**.

Stronger than any human should be, he sliced through throats and disembowelled others, reaching his hand inside after the Blade to pull out vital organs and crush them in his grip. It made a pleasingly visceral sound, a pleasantly meaty, wet bursting sensation. He was covered in the stuff, now, but he just wanted more. Like a whirlwind, Cas was there, the vanguard of their little squad, with everyone trailing behind. Crowley was mere paces to his rear, but Dean and Gadreel fell further and further back. No matter. They were only getting in the way. This was Cas' victory to win, not theirs. Gadreel was only there to keep Dean alive, and to tell the other angels in the other little strike groups when they'd won, so they could proclaim the victory and demand surrenders.

"Cas... Cas wait up..."

But Castiel was not going to wait, not any longer. He was human, now, he was finite and mortal. But he was more than that, he was Death. He was Death on two legs and with two hands. He was the end that came for monsters, the final judgement in combat. He was the force no one could resist. Whereas once he had thought himself God, now he knew the truth: there was no God, there was only the End, and he would bring it. 

The rest of the journey turned into a blur, turned into mere impressions as he honed in on his prey. She was there, then. She was staring at him with a supercilious smile on her face, a smile that curled her lips up and bared her sharp teeth. Wolfish, he thought, through the fog of bloodlust. Canines. That was what those teeth were called, though she looked more like a tigress or a lioness than a she-wolf. She was a cat, spraying her name over territory that didn't belong to her, and Cas was here to reclaim it for his King. Abaddon said something, but he didn't hear her. He advanced towards her, and met a wall of air that caught him by surprise. He braced his feet harder, but the sudden yelping sound of agony caught his attention, and when it split, he somehow felt an invisible hand tear the Blade from his grasp.

Crowley. Crowley was on his hands and knees, choking and clawing at his throat. Beyond him was Dean, who hadn't even made it as far as Crowley had, before Abaddon's magic stopped him. Blood poured from his mouth, thick and red, and it made the thundering in his ears grow louder.

"Let them go," he snarled, dropping to one knee to reach for his Blade.

"Give me the Blade, Castiel." Her hand balled into a fist, and she lifted it up. He could hear the gurgling sounds from Dean, and the way Crowley was fighting her influence.

"Don't do it, Cas," Crowley yelled, hoarsely. "Fight her." 

There was a sudden shift, like the pressure keeping his arm to his side was gone, and Cas realised that Crowley was trying to fight her off himself. She went flying backwards, her heels digging in as she resisted the mental push. Then she staggered again, and he realised that Gadreel was trying, too.

"Oh, look, two of you and you still can't beat me," she crowed at them. "And you have to bring a disgraced angel, and a broken angel. You won't even face me like a demon."

"You mean, cheating? Sounds demonic to me," Crowley spat back at her. "And you're right, I am different. And that makes me better than you."

There was another rush of air, and Cas knew that she was pouring all of her powers into resisting the onslaught of the King and his angelic assistance, and he also knew, somehow, that it was his time. Now, when she was not paying him any attention, because he was a lowly human, and Gadreel and Crowley were the real threats. Like an animal sensing the weakest point, the jugular, or the Achilles heel, he snatched up the Blade from where it lay inches from his hand, and with an atavistic howl he threw himself at her. He felt the moment her focus switched, and she was bearing down on him, trying to snap his neck with her magic. Trying to crush his ribcage, to flatten his trachea. He could tell she was giving everything she had, but the call of the Blade was just too strong.

One step. Two. Four. Right before he was on her, he saw the sudden panic in her eyes, and it was glorious. She reeked of fear and hate, and he thrust the Blade up and into her. Up and up went his arm, and she with it, and her hands grabbed at his wrist as she howled in agony. Down her body slumped over his wrist, and then all he could see was blood, bone, hair, sinew... it was like a madness descended upon him, and Cas went wild with it, smashing her skull, her ribs, her body a bloody, bone-yawning void and all her power gone and all the anger not gone, but amplified, and he kept on and on and--

"Cas..."

Her cheekbone shattered under his fist, and her eyes were weak without the protection of the sockets.

"Cas!"

There was so much blood in a human body, even one a demon had stolen.

" **CAS!** "

On the upswing, something caught his hand, and Cas turned with a snarl towards... towards...

"It's done. She's dead. It's over."

Cas' eyes narrowed, and he wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure what. The need to kill was still coursing through his veins, but there was Crowley looking worriedly down at him, trying to prise the Blade from his fingers. Jealously he wanted to keep it, to hold onto it, to... a flash of a vision, of how Crowley would look if he pushed the Blade into him and... Cas let the thing fall from his hand. Crowley spirited it away, and then he was looking down at what had once been Abaddon.

He had done it.

She was dead.


	39. Chapter 39

The congratulations were a blur. Cas was fairly sure that almost everyone felt the need to pat him on the arm, and every single touch jolted him like a burst of mains electricity, or a horse kicking him in the ribs. He said thank you, and thank you, and thank you. He was aware of casualty reports (they had lost some demons, and one angel, but no humans because they had all been healed), and he was even aware of their names, but mostly in the dull way that meant he knew who they were not, instead of who they were. He should have been more upset, because he didn't want any of their comrades to die, but he was incapable of feeling it, right now.

He said thank you mostly to the people he'd asked to come: Sam, Dean, Balthazar, Gadreel and the few other angels he still trusted enough to call on. Dean asked him if he was okay, and Cas lied and said he was.

He was.

Abaddon was dead. Of course he was okay, why wouldn't he be?

Eventually they all went back to their respective homes, along with the promises on both sides - Heaven and Hell - that they would return the favour to restore Heaven. Strange, wasn't it, how easily the lines of allegiance could shift and move, how the sworn enemy could be your best friend? 

Cas sat where Crowley put him, and he watched impassively as the King snapped things back to how they used to be. How long since he'd been here? In this place he called home? A year? Longer? Time was such a difficult master, now. He watched as the walls of Hell rearranged around him, like a flower blossoming. Desk. Chair. Bed. Books. Walls. Carpet. Even the scent changed, morphing into something calming and comely, something like camphor and musk. 

"Kitten... kitten?" 

He lifted his head at the familiar nickname, waiting to see what Crowley wanted.

"You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

Oh. Cas closed his eyes and repeated the last few things he could recall, but the words were just sounds that tripped off the tongue, and they never went any further inside.

"Do you even know what you just said?"

"Not really," he admitted.

"It's the Blade, isn't it? Ever since you drew first blood with it, you've been in a trance."

"I am sorry," he said, and he wasn't really, but it felt like the right thing to say. "Abaddon is dead."

"Yes. Yes, she is. And now Hell is back to normal, and I can keep you safe. But I can only do that if you come back to me, love."

"I am right here, Crowley," Cas said, frowning and tilting his head. "Where else would I be?"

"Oh, angel, I don't know, but it's a bad place for you to be." Crowley took hold of his hands, and he ran his thumbs over the knuckles.

Cas stared down at their hands, watching how the skin tugged out of place then slid back when it was released, the way it dipped to meet the bones below. Hands were so very, very delicate, so complicated. His arm hurt.

"I am glad that we won," he said. "I am glad she is gone, and Hell is yours again. You deserve it, Crowley. You deserve it. Even the angels think so."

"If you'd told me five years ago that the Winchester brothers and a garrison of Heaven's finest would help restore me to my throne, I would have laughed in your face. But now look at us... they came, and not one of them even made a threat to my life. It's progress, Cas, progress."

That made him smile, and he felt a little better. Cas looked back up to his demon's bright eyes, and he could see the concern, but also the care. "And you will help fix Heaven. I like to think that God would find that amusing. Perhaps it is a lesson a long time in the learning."

"All I can say is He has an insane sense of humour," the demon snarked. And then - a pause.

"What is it?"

Crowley swallowed, and Cas could see he was a little nervous. "I want to celebrate."

"Yes. We should."

The demon seemed to come to some conclusion, and he inclined his head. From somewhere Cas couldn't see, the room started to fill with muted, calm music. 

"Would you do me the honour of a dance, Castiel?" Crowley asked, still holding his hands.

Cas couldn't help but smile at that. Shy, even now? "I do not know how to, so if you are patient with me, then... I would love to."

"It's easy, you just let the rhythm and your partner sway you," Crowley said, tugging his hands until Cas was forced to either pull back, or stand. He opted to stand, and was immediately pulled in close. One hand stayed tangled with his, and the other went to the small of his back. Cas decided that probably meant he should do the same.

In the background, the low, gravelly male voice started to sing about a perfect day, and Cas thought that was just the right thing. It was a steady, predictable beat, and when Crowley started to guide him, he found it easier than he expected to follow the demon's lead.

Crowley pressed his cheek to Cas', and they rocked back and forth. It was oddly soothing, and grounding, and Cas felt a little less like a monster, and a little more like him.

" _...you made me forget myself,_  
 _I thought I was someone else,_  
 _Someone good..._ "

Yes, it really was perfect he thought, as he held his King closer. He kissed the soft little space behind Crowley's ear, and rumbled quietly, "I love you, my King of Hell."

"I love you, too, Cas. My brave little soldier."

The beat got a little faster, the strings kicking in, and Cas let Crowley dance them around their rooms. He always knew how to make him feel better, how to work past the latest horror that was Cas' life, to find the calm underneath. Battle and blood and anger faded down, and in its place were visions of gardens, of sunrises, of bees. One day, they would retire, he supposed. They would hand over Hell to Cecily, and they would find a place with a garden, with a stream. There would be music, and sunlight, and a wide, soft bed. There would be the smells of coffee and bacon, of whiskey and rain-fresh grass, and they would live happily ever after.

Maybe.

Maybe.

It was hard to imagine a world that would allow them the space to live like that, the freedom to just enjoy their existence together. It was hard to imagine there could ever be a place where a demon and a broken angel could just **be** , but it was a nice fantasy to entertain, anyway. 

They could even have pets. Maybe not a Hellhound, maybe a regular dog or two, or a cat that moused for them and rubbed up against their legs and meowed at them to wake up on the days they had spent too long in bed together. 

It was a nice daydream, and as the song drew to a close, Cas felt lighter in his chest.

"Always," he whispered, without needing to explain what he meant. "Always, Crowley."

"Yes. Forever."

***

Gadreel had spent so many years in Heaven's prison that he'd concocted millions upon millions of scenarios about his eventual (and, at the time, impossible) release. He'd thought about God coming down to speak with him, about some sudden flash of revelation. He'd thought that God might come down and explain it was necessary, but there was some bigger plan, and now it was time for it to happen. He'd thought about breaking free, and remonstrating with his maker and Father. He'd thought about a good many things.

Never once had he thought he would help save Hell. Some of his fantasies had covered Hell, of course: there were the ones where, angry, he'd been freed by Lucifer and he'd taken his place at the archangel's side. There were the ones where he had gone down to destroy Hell, too. To prove he was good, deep down. To prove he was still an angel.

He had not thought that he would be working side by side with Michael's Sword, with Lucifer's. He'd never thought he would go into Hell at the behest of a demon, to help kill a Knight. 

He'd nearly killed Crowley. Admittedly, it hadn't been a personal thing, he had merely wanted to keep his presence a secret, and he'd known that Sam freeing the demon would have endangered him. But he could still remember the conversations he had overheard, and memories of others, before. He could still recall seeing in Sam's eyes a creature broken into nothing, all for love. 

'It's complicated', Dean had said, when he and Sam had approached him for help. 'Yeah, he's a demon, but he's better than she is'.

Strangely, Gadreel didn't feel any shame, or remorse, or inner conflict. It had been the right thing to do. It was. Much in the same way that he thought that working with the brothers to bring Metatron to justice would be the right thing, too. 

He stared up at the sky, listening to the visitor who had just left the Bunker. This was where he and Kevin had spent most of a night together, just talking. He missed the Prophet more than he had thought he would. Kevin had reached out to him in a way no other had. He allowed the Prophet's mother time to change her mind and leave, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. When she moved to sit beside him, he turned to greet her.

"You all came back okay, then," she said, and her voice was calmer, now, not angry.

"We did. There were some losses, but not many. Lariad, and two demons."

She looked out, though it was dark, and he knew her eyes would not see much in the night. It was not about seeing, though. He had worked that out with Kevin. 

"I'm angry that you lost him, but I know you didn't mean to."

"Yes. I am also angry. He is a kind soul, Mrs. Tran. I wish no harm on him, and I would have done anything within my power to safeguard him. I feel responsible for his loss, and I will do everything I can to restore him to you."

"It's never going to stop, is it?"

That question seemed to be rhetorical, but he was not entirely sure. "I am not sure I understand?"

"This... there's always going to be something. Something he needs to do. I thought when he'd translated everything, that we could learn a few tricks, maybe ask the demon to give us new identities... but Kevin's not the kind to just sit back and let the world go to Hell."

"It is likely why he is a Prophet, Mrs. Tran. He was chosen because of his sense of right and wrong."

"Or he has that sense _because_ he's a Prophet."

"It is still a choice," the angel insisted. "No matter what, he had the choice. He could have left many times by now, I am sure, but he chose to stay because he believed in this."

"It's just not the life I wanted for him," she explained. "I tried to give him every opportunity I could. He's so very bright, so very determined... I wanted him to succeed in anything he chose, and now I'm starting to think _this_ is it."

Gadreel was not so sure what to say to that, so he nodded, and watched as a flicker of burning space-matter fell through the atmosphere. He had been there, in the firmament, and seen these things close by. They were just as beautiful from far away, too. "It is a noble calling, Mrs. Tran. It is something to be proud of."

"I wonder," she went on, "...if I wasn't always on his case for him to stop, would he still take the same risks? Or could I have helped, somehow? I'm not a young woman, but I still have some life left in me. And if this is what he wants, then... then I should support him."

"I believe that there is a role for the less physically energetic," Gadreel said. "I believe they often assist with the knowledge and resources part of hunting. Sam had memories of a - friend - who did this. He saved their lives many times."

"Well, I'm not ready to be put out to pasture completely, you know," she said with a little snort. "But I know I'm not as fit as those two boys. If he gets out of this okay, and if this is what he wants... we'll make it work. Maybe he won't want his mom around packing sandwiches and texting him directions, but I'll be on the other end of the line for him."

"Kevin is very lucky to have you, Mrs. Tran."

"Linda," she corrected him.

"Linda. You said earlier that you believe his sense of right and wrong is because of his role as Prophet. I believe on the contrary, that he had the potential to be a Prophet. But that the brave young man he is was in no small part thanks to your upbringing."

"Now you're just flattering me," she scoffed, and hit him on the arm.

"I am not, Linda, I give you my word."

"He likes you, you know. Everyone already has their partner, their brother, their boyfriend... he never said it, but a mother can tell. He felt a little like a third wheel at their parties. Like you."

"It is true that Sam and Dean share a deep bond."

"If he's going to be a Hunter, he's going to need someone to go out on the hunt with, and I know it won't be me. I'd feel better about it if it was you."

Gadreel was surprised. From a mother, he could think of no higher honour than her approval of him as a companion. He had not given much thought to what he would do once Metatron was defeated, but it was true that he had grown fond of the Earth. It treated him a lot better than Heaven ever had.

"If he asks me, then I will bear your approval in mind," he said, trying to word it carefully. He wasn't sure it was what he wanted, though it did have a certain appeal. "And thank you."

"It's cold," she said, then. "I'm going back in. Are you coming?"

He had thought to stay here a little longer, but then... he had all his life to be alone with his thoughts, but who knew how long not to be. With a nod, he stood up and offered her his hand. He pulled her to her feet, then offered her the jacket he was wearing. She took it with a smile, and they went back into the Bunker. It was late.

Soon it would be morning, and then Heaven.


	40. Chapter 40

The next day, shortly after breakfast, Cas and Crowley arrived at the Bunker, where Gadreel and Balthazar were already waiting. April was there, too, but Cas wasn't sure if she was only around because she was given Balthazar a ride everywhere he went, or if it was because she was actually interested in divine politics despite her earlier claims. 

Cas, of course, had brought Crowley. Crowley was there for multiple reasons, and one of them was pure logistics: without his wings, Cas was restricted to human transportation, or to the King's teleportation skills. Secondly, Crowley had promised all of his (not inconsiderable) resources to help the angels out, in return for their help with Abaddon. Cas was sure, however, that Crowley would have insisted on helping anyway, so that was moot. Thirdly, Cas wanted him there.

Then there was both Sam and Dean, who were there ostensibly because they were worried about Kevin, but also because they were useful. Cas was almost surprised that they'd managed to keep Linda from the meeting, because it was turning increasingly into a huge affair, rather than a little band of rebels. 

When they arrived, it looked almost like a War Room: everyone bar Balthazar had taken up a chair. Balthazar, of course, was wandering around, examining the decor. If he wasn't pinned down, the blasted angel was like a hurricane through your belongings. 

"Are we late?" Cas asked.

"Oh, no, we're early," Balthazar said, breezily. "And then apparently I can't be 'unchaperoned' in case I do some undisclosed harm, so we all decided to sit in our little appointed chairs and wait. I'm waiting for my name plaque in front of my seat."

"This is all very exciting," Crowley said, sliding into one of the chairs. "I feel like we should have a name for our little team. Maybe we could all synchronise our watches, and get matching ringtones like in '24'?"

"If this is how Heaven and Hell are run, no wonder it's always fucked up," Dean complained. "Do you guys ever do anything but bitch?"

"I'm wounded, Dean, truly," Crowley said, sounding anything but.

"If you would rather not be involved, we can do this without you," Cas offered. "I only wished to be polite, as we are using the Bunker for our meetings, as a central point."

"No, we wanna help, Cas," Sam insisted. "It's just all very surreal."

"Where are we even at with everything?" Dean asked. "It's a bit hard to keep up on everything."

Cas turned to Balthazar. "Would you be able to brief us all, as you have the most up to date intelligence?"

"Gladly!" Balthazar replied, and then he sat sideways on the table, at the head. "I'll start at the beginning, just in case anyone's mentally deficient and can't remember. Ever since Metatron tricked Castiel, stealing his Grace, all other angels have been unable to enter Heaven. There has also been an issue with souls not moving along as they should, and April reports that the souls which were bound for Heaven are... stuck."

April nodded. "It's getting pretty crowded, you know. And they're restless. If they don't move on soon, some of them will manifest as ghosts or poltergeists, and that will cause an increased strain on Hunters, because of the resultant paranormal activity."

"Anything we can do about that?" Sam asked.

"Not really," April answered. "We can't escort them up, because the doors are barred."

"I could cordon off an area of Hell for them," Crowley offered. "I promise, I wouldn't put my mucky paws on them, but they would at least be entertained, and not causing a ruckus."

"That is a temporary solution, yes," Cas agreed. "Could you please start work on making somewhere suitable, somewhere no demons other than yourself and perhaps Cecily could access, so that if we can't fix the problem soon, we can store them?"

"I'll get my right hand demon on it," Crowley said, making a mental note.

"Is everything else working for you guys?" Dean asked, looking at Gadreel and Balthazar. "I mean, other than the flying thing?"

"Yes, other than the inability to fly or enter Heaven, we are still in full possession of our normal abilities," Gadreel answered.

"Metatron, however, can still enter Heaven, and he has been offering this to various angels," Cas said, nodding at Metatron.

"He approached me, and wanted me to work for him. He asked me to kill Kevin Tran. He... wishes to be the new God," Gadreel explained.

"And we all saw how well that went," came Balthazar's dry commentary. "I've had my ear to the ground, and he's approaching anyone on the outskirts - all the undecideds, the conscientious objectors, or the ones who don't seem sold to the others' causes. He offers the same thing: the chance to go back to Heaven."

"How?" Sam asked.

"He says he has a private pathway, a back door, if you will," Balthazar replied. "He asks for a show of loyalty from anyone he recruits, but we've been unable to decipher any meaningful strategy behind these tasks, other than the obvious ones where he's reducing potential competition or dissenters. He's asked for prominent angels of all backgrounds to be eliminated."

Dean slapped his hands onto the table, leaning forwards. He stared straight at Balthazar. "Right, so it's angel civil war all over again? Peachy."

"We are becoming quite the endangered species, it is true. And as there's never any more angels created, before long there will be none of us left."

"Balthazar, you have been monitoring the situation with the other factions?" Cas prompted.

"Oh, yes. Quite aside from Mr. Sharpie, there's Bartholomew and Malachai to worry about. Those two are rather more transparent than our secretarial friend, and their manifestoes are not complicated. They both seemed intent on wiping the other group out, and ensuring no one stayed neutral. If they had their way, we'd be back under martial law. Until Metatron, it was pretty much a two-party system. Now? Now it's more chaotic."

"So what's our game plan?" Dean asked.

"I do not trust Metatron, nor could I ever trust him," Cas said. "He deceived me, and he murdered Naomi. He also tried to have Kevin killed and kidnapped him. Any promise he would give would be suspect. However, he does have the only known access point to Heaven, and he also has Kevin. We cannot storm Heaven like we did Hell. We must monitor his assets, to see if we can locate the path he is using to enter Heaven."

"And you'll do that how?" April asked.

"Ah, I believe I can be of assistance, there," Crowley said, raising his hand. "I have a very sophisticated network, courtesy of Cecily, which I can use to track his known associates."

"That would be very helpful," Cas said, with a little smile. "Thank you."

Dean tilted his head, frowning. "And then what? We gonna Guantanamo them?" 

"I would hope it would not come to that," Cas said, but he sounded rueful. "Though if we are left with no alternative, then we will. And once we have Metatron in our custody, we will need to extract Kevin's location from him. If possible, I would like to re-open Heaven, but failing that we will use his 'back door'."

"And then there's your Grace," Crowley reminded him.

"So, are you going to be our new, glorious leader?" Balthazar asked. "Because we're going to need one. You know we will, Cas."

"I am not the angel you think I am, Balthazar."

"Oh, I think you are. I think you've got a mind for strategy, and I think you've got a skill for leadership. You convinced us to help out with your little demon infestation, and you led the charge against Raphael. Yes, you have made mistakes over the years, but if you can learn from them, you will be _the_ force to be reckoned with."

"I do not want to lead," Cas blurted out. "I did not want it the first time. I merely wanted to save the world. I do not make a good leader, just a soldier."

"Yeah, but angels need a boss," Dean insisted. "And Cas, if Bartholomew and Malachai are really going round capping peaceful dudes, don't you think you have to be better than the alternatives? No one's saying become the new sheriff, just fix the problems and then... help me out, guys?"

"Much as it pains me to admit this, Dean, I've found that angels truly do need someone to fall in line behind. I don't think you're going to change a thing like that over night. If not Cas, then someone will need to be the figurehead. I am afraid it seems to be one place where the sacred American duty of imposing artificially inflated democracy just will not work." Balthazar shrugged. "We may need you as the Head of State, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it, Cas."

"No... we can't just do that," the ex-angel argued. "I cannot lead. I can assist with the operation, but things must be different this time."

"Kitten... they will be. They will. But we'll do it by baby steps. In times of great urgency, even the Romans appointed dictators. You won't be alone: all of us will be here to help you, but you? You have the cachet to pull this off, where no one else does. And maybe they will think you're just calling all the shots, but in reality, you'll be checking in with the people you know and trust. And then, when the time is right, we'll ease it back."

Cas wasn't sure, but everyone seemed to think it was a good idea except him. Why? Didn't they remember what had happened last time? Perhaps Gadreel wasn't aware, but everyone else... though, when he thought about it, what alternative was there? Balthazar he knew didn't have the temperament to lead, Gadreel did not have the name, and the three who had risen to the top were all just as bad as he had been, if not worse. He looked pleadingly to Dean, hoping he would remember the whole Leviathan incident and speak up in Cas' defence. To his surprise, Dean just gave him a little nod of support.

"...alright," he said, exasperated. "But only until we can come up with a viable alternative. I also plan to speak with both Malachai and Bartholomew, separately. I want to offer them the chance to end this amicably. I do not want any more deaths, not if we can avoid them. I want to fix Heaven, not decimate it."

"I'm not letting you meet them alone," Crowley insisted. "I'm going with you."

Cas shook his head. "No, Crowley. I'm sorry, but they would not understand. It is not that I am not proud of you, it is..."

"Ah, yes. P.R. reasons. I understand." The demon smiled, but he saw the slight flicker of pain, and he realised it would need some fixing, later. Cas leaned over and pecked his cheek, to reassure him.

"I can go," Balthazar offered. "I'll have as much gunpower as they will. If you'll have me, Cassy?"

"Of course I will."

"And what do you need me and Sammy to do?" Dean asked. "...'cause it sounds like you got this all sorted."

"I may need your assistance when we have leads on Metatron's associates," Cas replied. "I am sure he will be using demon proofing, which will hinder Cecily, and other magical protections. He may also be using spells to control angelic access, so you may well be the only people who can penetrate some of his strongholds."

"Sounds fun."

They were all listening to him, he realised. All of them, ready to follow his lead. He didn't think he had much more experience than some of the people here around the table, but they still deferred to him. Once, his pride would have swollen with it, but now? Now he just worried he would do a good enough job. A knee against his, under the table, made him smile inside. 

"Unless there are any further questions, I believe that we are, as they say, 'a go'?"

"Just tell me when and where you need me, ducky," Balthazar said. "And we'll go play nice with the bullies."

Not something Cas was looking forwards to. Bartholomew had always been headstrong, and too quick to spill blood. He didn't listen to reason, so much as force. Cas really didn't want to have to resort to posturing with the First Blade to prove he was still a force to be reckoned with, but even killing a Knight of Hell might not be enough to bring him back in line. And Malachai? He was just an opportunist of the highest order.

Why did the good ones never take over, he wondered?

"Keep your phones on, lady, gentlemen, and others," Crowley said. "If you give me names, I'll set up my surveillance net."

"I can help out with that," Sam offered. "I'll call Cecily."

"Much appreciated, Moose. Now... we'll see you later."

It was going to work, right? If a newly humanised Cas could get the First Blade and kill one of Lucifer's Knights, then a few angels was just... child's play, surely? Yes. It was.


	41. Chapter 41

"So, have you finally come to your senses?" Bartholomew asked. "I was surprised when I--"

"Hello, Bartholomew," Castiel said.

"Castiel? Is that really you?" The angel was in a tall, blond vessel, rugged and what Cas supposed classed as 'All American'. Without his angelic senses, it was only through either the angel radio or context clues that he could identify Bartholomew. He had the advantage, of course, because he had already seen Castiel in this form. 

"It is."

"I thought you wouldn't mind a plus one," Balthazar explained, with a long shrug of his shoulders. "It's like a little family reunion. Hits me right where the pacemaker would go."

Castiel was surprised when Bartholomew walked across the lobby straight to him, and opened his arms. Awkwardly, he returned the embrace. It was rather more affection than he was expecting, but Bartholomew had always been very... 'present', wherever he went. It was, Cas suspected, part of his psychological game, to control the situation and force others to play to his tune. 

"I thought you were dead," the angel said.

"You should hire better hitmen," Cas replied.

Bartholomew's smile was sharp and wolfish, and Cas replied with one that he'd picked up from Sam somewhere along the line. 

"They were not sent to kill you, only as a last resort, Castiel. You should know I wouldn't want to lose someone as important as you."

"Even when I 'destroyed Heaven'?"

"Well, whatever the intention was," Balthazar cut in, hands open and body language conciliatory, "...it's all in the past now, and we can't change that without causing great civil unrest, so why don't we try to find a way to move on?"

"Yes, you're quite right. And if two of the heaviest weights have come to me, this can only be good news. I trust you're here to ally yourself with our cause? To defeat Metatron and restore Heaven to its former glory?"

"Got it in one," Balthazar agreed.

"We do wish to work with you," Castiel added, "...but there needs to be some changes to your methods."

"Changes?"

"There is too much violence," the ex-seraph explained. "We are too few to continue with this infighting, not that any angel life is less than precious. There must be no more killings, and no more bullying tactics. We must ally with Malachai and seek the most peaceful resolution to the problems."

Bartholomew scoffed loudly. "Malachai? He is little more than a thug. My followers and I will win this race, and all of the loyal angels will be restored."

"Malachai is our brother." He tried to keep his voice level, he really did, but Bartholomew had a way of getting under Cas' skin. "We are weaker if we fight amongst ourselves. If we learned nothing else from the civil wars with Raphael and Lucifer, we should have learned that. All angels deserve the chance to return to Heaven."

"And if you're fighting a war on two fronts, you're going to risk being squished." Balthazar sounded far too cheery at the prospect.

"So you are proposing... what? His people to be assimilated into my ranks?"

"Yes. One massed force, working as one. No more factions, no more attacks."

"And what about the angels who don't want to fall in line?"

"If they are not opposing us, and they wish to remain as they are, then we should allow them that choice," Cas said. "We can only offer them the possibility for a return, but we should not force it upon them."

"Maybe more of the buggers will learn what Free Will is," Balthazar mused. "Most of them are so institutionalised over the millennia that once you open the cage, they just pull the door back shut on themselves."

Bartholomew did not look convinced. "What happens when we restore Heaven? Do we allow those who sat by and let the diligent do all the hard work... come home, too? What will be the motivation for anyone to do anything?"

"Because it is the right thing to do," Cas answered. "Those who want to help, will. You should not force obedience, or you end up with Lucifer. You must give them the choice, and allow them to say yes, or no."

"...interesting theory. But what about those who side with Metatron? And what's your plan for him?"

"If we are successful enough, no one will stay with him. If angels choose to change their allegiance, and prove themselves loyal to us, we must allow them that chance. If they do not..." Hmm. Tricky one. Cas had not considered that anyone would want to remain loyal to Metatron, once the truth of the situation was out. "We will imprison them."

"...probably," Balthazar added, and grinned when Cas shot him a look.

"And where do you fit in, in this wonderful scheme of yours?"

"I believe we should work together." It was not quite what they had discussed before, so he kept his eyes away from Balthazar, willing the other angel to know enough to back his play. "You, me, Malachai, Balthazar... anyone who has something to bring to the table."

"Angels need a leader," Bartholomew insisted.

Balthazar's eyeroll was practically audible. "And let me guess, you think it should be you?"

"I have the far superior forces. I have the numbers, the skill, and the intelligence. If we do not have a strong leader, then we will be forever lost in 'red tape', as the humans say. Have you seen how disorganised a leaderless group is? The anarchy? The indecision? The confusion, the fighting, the inefficiency?"

"You have tried your hand at leading, and you have a large garrison behind you, but the fact remains you have not united everyone. The very fact that you have been attacking the undecided angels, and that you still quarrel with Malachai? This all proves that you are a good leader, but you cannot lead the final push."

"And you can? Castiel... I have followed you before. You are a good strategist, you are a skilful warrior, but you are no longer an angel. You have no wings, no Grace. You defeated Raphael, but at what cost? You consort with a demon, you play favourites with humans, and you were there when Heaven fell. Whether you meant to or not, you caused this. And whether you like it or not, people will remember that."

"You ask me what cost my victories came at, and I will tell you: great cost. I lost my memory and my mind. I lost my King, and I nearly lost my friends. But I have them back, and I will get my Grace back. I will do whatever it takes to fix Heaven, because I was instrumental in breaking it. You may give orders, but you are not a leader, Bartholomew."

"Oh?"

"No leader I would follow. I know what you did. I know what you did to those angels we defeated."

"I did what needed to be done."

"No. You did what you wanted to, and you couched it in terms of 'necessity'. I have done the same thing, but the difference between you and I, is I have learned my lesson, and you have not. If angels need a leader, then we will let them chose their leader."

"...a vote?" Balthazar asked. "You really want to hold an election?"

"It seems an... equitable way to do things." Cas shrugged. "If we need a leader, it should be one that people trust, one they want to follow. And whoever it is should have the intelligence to use the influential and skilful members of the team to their best advantage."

"And if they voted for you - or Malachai?"

"If they voted for me, I would ensure you had a position suitable for your talents. I cannot speak for Malachai, but if you are really concerned that he might win a vote, then you are less certain of your position than you earlier indicated."

That made Bartholomew smile again. "You really are good at this. Alright. How about you approach old Mal, see if he's willing to put this to the _vox populi_ , and if he says yes... then we'll do it."

"You know you're making the right decision," Balthazar said, pushing up to his feet at last. "With all the groups united, with the Hunters and with Old Scratch the Second on our side... we can't lose."

"I do hope you're right. Whilst this vessel is adequate, I much prefer to be at home, instead of down here."

Balthazar snorted in amusement. "Personally, I'm the other way around. Pleasures of the flesh, and all. Very, very pleasurable."

"If you two would like to continue this discussion, I could leave you in peace?" Cas suggested.

"Oh, come off it, Cassy. Like you've never made people uncomfortable with your wild demon nomping."

"I have never felt the need to discuss my liaisons in public, or to otherwise broadcast my availability, or lack thereof."

"More's the pity. I'm sure the sex tapes would go for a bomb. Your loss."

"One of these days, you will need to explain to me the appeal of a demon," Bartholomew said. "Because I've thought about it, and I can't work out why on Earth you would do that."

"...another time, perhaps. When this is all over."

"I can't wait."

***

"That went better than I expected," Balthazar said, as they sat outside the front of Bartholomew's office block, waiting for April to come and collect them. 

"Considering he sent your Reaper to murder me, I think getting out of there alive would be enough to count as a success."

"There's no hard feelings about that, are there?"

"No, none. I know you did it to keep me safe, and without it, I might well have found myself fully dead. Plus I... I know I was not the best of friends to you."

"Oh, you mean the whole threatening to murder _me_ thing?" The other angel made a gesture with his wrist that was incredibly distracting. "Yes, it hurt at the time, and alright perhaps a bit of the brutal murder was me getting my own back on you, but... what's a little fratricide between siblings?"

"It can only be between siblings," Cas answered, looking confused.

"...quite. So. Quits?"

"Yes. Quits."

They went back to sitting in silence for a bit, and Cas began to wonder if April was held up.

"Does she make you happy?" he asked, when the silence had gone on too long.

"April?"

Cas nodded.

"Very much so. I mean, it's not like we're actually going 'steady', as the humans say, we're not exchanging rings and vows and so on, but... I like spending time with her. She's smart witted, and she's not easily shocked, and it's nice to have someone you can talk to who understands what you're talking about. I... sometimes feel a bit..."

"...worried about the forever bit?" Cas asked, finding something there in his old friend's eyes that he recognised. 

There was a snappy rejoinder on Balthazar's lips, and a flicker of fear that he was going to try to cover over, but then... then he shook his head, as if he was deciding not to. "For people like you - well, when you're better - me, Crowley and April... forever is a long time."

"If she makes you happy, then you should continue for as long as she still makes you happy, and you her."

"Thank you for that very obvious assessment, Castiel. I will be sure to seek your relationship advice on such things as 'if I like a sexual act and my partner does too, should I continue to do it or should I feel crushing guilt about the depravity of using sexual aids and limit my repertoire to only plain vanilla exchanges of bodily fluids'..."

"Bodily fluids are not vanilla," Cas countered, but he knew what the term meant, thanks to Crowley, and he was smirking when he said it. "But you know precisely what I mean. Crowley makes me happy, and so I do not worry. There is nothing wrong with being happy."

"The Catholic division might have some objections to raise against your Epicurean ways, but I won't. So... does that mean there's a double wedding on the horizon?"

"Would you?"

"Marry April?"

"Honestly? Probably not, unless she really wanted it. It's a very human ritual. I don't feel myself as drawn to blending in with them, so much as picking and choosing the elements I find to be interesting. But if she asked for the big white dress and the horse drawn carriage... as long as we had one Hell of a honeymoon, I suppose I might be persuaded." A head cocked to one side, eyes curious. "You?"

"We... sort of discussed it, but felt the same. It's not so much that I want or don't want the 'tradition' of the ceremony, so much as the... formal acknowledgement? I intend to spend the rest of my existence with him, and he with me. He came to Purgatory with me, you know. He followed me into the worst place in the whole of the universe. He believed in me, when I wasn't myself... and I would die for him, if I had to. I took Cain's Mark, all to avenge him."

"Well there's not much that's more indelible than the Mark of Cain, if you were looking for a permanent sign. Although I suppose Crowley would need to do something similar, and Cain _did_ manage to pass it on to you, so it's not like it's a forever-thing... I don't know. If there's something you feel it would be meaningful for you to do to mark your union, then I'll even offer to officiate."

"Really?"

The angel wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulder, and tugged him in close. "Ducky, you've never been happier than when you're with him. Admittedly you've done some pretty awful things, but I think I'm right in assuming the pair of you regret those bits. I wouldn't be here, right now, if I didn't have the utmost faith that you're capable of great things. And I wouldn't have helped you kill Abaddon if I didn't believe there was a spark of something worth the effort in Crowley, too."

"Thank you."

"You can thank me by fixing Heaven, you know."

"I know. I promised I would try, and I will. I will do anything I can, to make this work."

"And when everything is back to normal again, you and I are going to sit and talk weddings. Or... un-weddings. Whatever it is that makes our respective other halves happy with us."

"Please." Cas leaned against him, enjoying the closeness. He didn't think he could do this with any other angel than Balthazar, but here... he felt safe.


	42. Chapter 42

"So, Kevin..." 

The Prophet glared at his captor, eyebrows raised in his best 'bitch, please'.

"You know, we don't have to be enemies, you and I."

"You tried to have me killed," Kevin reminded him, yet again. "And you--"

"Yes, yes... I know. Castiel and all the other angels. I was doing him a favour, you know. From what I understand, he's much happier in Hell than in Heaven, anyway. And... the angels needed something to rally behind. Some mutual enemy, to gild their bonds."

"So you're being a dick because you care?"

Metatron shrugged. "Am I, though? Is Earth really that bad? And am I doing any worse than the previous man in charge, who gave the orders then left before they were finished?"

"What do you want from me? Is it really just because you like to hear the sound of your own voice, and you want a last bargaining chip, to stop them nuking the place?"

"Even if it _were_ possible to 'nuke' Heaven, it would not be a wise course of action. Not that wisdom has had a large part in any angel's thought process for some time..."

"You haven't answered my question."

"Why do I need to want anything from you?"

Kevin folded his arms across his chest. "Everyone always does."

"Maybe that's true of the others you've encountered... although, no being is entirely without motivation, or self-interest. Even the 'selfless' are doing it because they get a buzz out of the feeling of martyrdom or self-sacrifice... an interesting case-study, that. Well. My _hope_ would be that you would appreciate what I am doing. Come along for the journey, as it were. Keep an open mind. After all, although a writer does it because they _are_ a writer, because they have that... burning need in them to tell the story... no author ever turned down a good review, or did it without the secret hope that it would touch someone, somewhere... reach into their heart and pluck at the strings..."

"...you're really messed up, you know," Kevin said, wide-eyed at this latest speech.

"Just as necessity is the mother of invention, a different way of looking at the world is the mother of art, Kevin."

"So you think this is art? Kidnapping me so you can babble on about... about martyrs and bombs?"

"You were the one who brought up the bombs, not me," Metatron reminded him. "Although that would be an interesting allegory, an angel jihadist? Pleasingly twisted, when you think about it. Difficult to spin without causing offence somewhere, though, but what's a good story without a few noses out of joint?"

Kevin wondered if he could use this chatty behaviour to his advantage. It wasn't as if Metatron was a 'closed book', he'd probably answer anything asked of him, he was that self-absorbed. "Why did you kick the other angels out? Was it the only way you could end up in charge?"

"You don't understand what Heaven was like, when God left. You've only met a few of them, and believe me... the archangels? Spoilt brats, all of them. Posturing eagles, clawing at one another, going for the eyes... God didn't make angels smart, for the most part."

"...except for you?"

"You say that with such a _tone_ , Kevin, but it's true. Most of them were made to be foot-soldiers, not thinkers, not artists. The regime under Michael, even under Raphael... it wasn't all sunshine and roses. There was Naomi's Inquisition, there were civil wars... angel killing angel... it's never been settled. But if I can get everyone behind a common enemy, then I can fix things."

"And the enemy is you? I really don't understand..."

"Of course you don't, because you're drowning in the rhetoric of Castiel and the Winchesters! The bleating, bleeding, martyr-lamb and his pet attack dogs... you know, they say history is written by the victors."

"If that's the case, there's never going to be a good guy."

"True... the current ruling class will always find a way to denigrate the ones before, and sometimes even themselves, if they're suffering from angst and self-doubt. Post-colonial neurosis."

"You really think you're the good guy in this?"

"I'm saying the story is more... nuanced. The concept of 'good' and 'bad' is a little more complicated."

"I thought God was pretty clear on what was good and bad. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that how judgement works? I know I didn't go to church all that often, but that's pretty much common knowledge."

Metatron made a see-saw gesture with his hand, wincing. "Still, it's complicated. You need to see the bigger picture, Kevin. Sure, Lucifer was wrong to do what he did, but if he didn't, then no one would have the chance to fall and rise. If you don't put the fruit there, then you can't be 'good'. If you don't fall, you don't learn. It would be pretty dull and meaningless, if there was no conflict. If there was no dilemmas, no 'good intentions'. If everyone knew what was right, and what was wrong, and it was a case of go up, or go down... it wouldn't be Free Will. You either have to make people flawed - and therefore interesting - or you have to make the distinction between what you should and shouldn't do impossible to know for sure. Do you divert a train to save ten babies and kill three adults? Do you abort a foetus that has a high chance of killing the mother before it comes to term? Do you work with the Devil to take in evil souls to prevent the end of the world?"

"You can't just go around picking your own battles, making your own moral questions up, because... because!"

"Why not?"

"You're not God!"

"I don't see anyone else around capable of doing what I'm doing, Kevin. And that's the answer you need."

"No, it's not. You're just coming up with things to justify what it is you really want to do!"

"Isn't that how everyone works? Don't lie, Kevin. You know it's true."

"I didn't condemn angels to death. Or anyone."

"...other than the Leviathans."

"They were monsters!"

"And history will say the same of the Winchesters. Mass-murdering psychopaths. It would be painfully easy to subvert the story, to flip it on its head, to re-imagine it from another focal point... and I don't think you'd like the reflection of your beloved friends, if we did it."

"And I'd like you?"

"Maybe not like, but you don't **have** to like me, not in the rugged hero sense. I'm a protagonist, right now, nothing more. An underdog, but a 'rags to riches' type. Well-meaning and endearing, that's me, Kevin. And you? You're smart, but you're naïve; you're the audience stand-in, because this whole world is new to you. You're how things get explained, but thankfully you're quick on the uptake. It flatters the audience, that way, because they work through the issues alongside you... and you're the best and brightest, so you're calling your audience smart."

"I'm still not going to side with you. No matter what. I held up against Meg, I think I can hold up to you."

"Well... only time will tell, Kevin. In the meantime, make yourself at home. I only came by to see how you were doing."

He was tempted to scream go to Hell, but Kevin didn't want to give Metatron the kick of seeing he'd got to him. Instead, he just nodded dismissively. 

"Tell me if you run out of reading material, I can always provide more. Or a pen and paper if you want to take down your autobiography..."

"Guess you don't want anything translating, which makes a change," Kevin admitted, reluctantly. 

"Be a pretty bad Scribe if I couldn't read my own handwriting, you know. Not everyone wants you for your reading ability. Well... I mustn't keep you. You know how it is... full work schedule and all. Heaven doesn't run itself."

Kevin didn't know. He was also pretty sure he didn't want to, either.

***

Crowley was off supervising something about contracts that he'd explained, but Cas didn't really understand. Not that he particularly wanted to, because at the end of the day, he'd prefer souls didn't go to Hell, but he realised that you had to give them the choice to do one or the other, and that Hell still needed souls coming in to run. It was a complicated moral balance, but he had to let humans choose their own fate, and he decided that if he became an angel again, that he would make sure he did an equal amount of helping people and encouraging them along the good path, in order to maintain balance.

It did mean that Cas was in Crowley's office, studying the map that Bartholomew had eventually shared with him, detailing sightings of Metatron. There wasn't much to go on, yet, because he'd been maintaining a reasonably low profile. It was also impossible to work out how he was getting around. Cas wasn't sure if he still had his wings, or if he was using his own means of getting into and out of Heaven. 

The reluctant truce with Malachai's forces had given them mostly brute force, not intelligence, but that would still prove useful. In a dossier on Crowley's desk were the lists of all angels and vessels, along with their known or suspected allegiances and last locations. It was starting to come together, but it was still not fully clear what 'it' was. Cas rubbed his arm distractedly, trying to work out what Metatron's next move would be. Since the truce - with both sides agreeing not to attack the other, but without actually consenting to work directly with the other team - the reports had quietened down, and Cas suspected that Metatron had been capitalising on the 'noise' of the two factions' altercations to conceal his own work.

It would only be a matter of time, though. He didn't think Metatron would be able to just sit idly by. He would slip up, or he would get frustrated, and he would further his agenda. The fact that he could no longer be banished by a sigil, or trapped by holy fire was somewhat worrying, though. Without those methods of control, Cas was at a loss as to how he would even be able to speak with him. His only hope was the Men of Letters' Bunker, because those chains that had held Crowley had been powerful, and if he could somehow trick him into them, then perhaps he could restrain him... killing would be the last resort.

He looked up from his musing, to find Cecily had somehow sneaked in without him noticing. Either she was stealthier than he gave her credit for, or he had been so distracted that his mind had registered her as 'not a threat' and accepted her presence without question.

"Hello, Cecily," he said, with a cautious smile.

"I've found something that might interest you," the demon said, waving a folder. He wasn't sure why she favoured printing things out so much, but he was grateful. He'd mastered the cell phone with its text messages and strange glyphs in place of emotions, but he really did not enjoy using computers as much as Sam and Dean did, and whenever he signed into his email account he found a lot of messages there that didn't seem to be at all helpful or even directed personally to him.

"Thank you. Is it on Metatron?" he asked.

"I think so, unless your brothers are breaking the terms of the agreement. Which - I have to say - I wouldn't rule out immediately. No offence to you at all, but angels are..."

"No, it's alright. Not all of my siblings are good at keeping their word. It's not as clear cut as 'angels good, demons bad'... Malachai is less of a strategic thinker than Bartholomew is. I doubt he would be able to orchestrate a subtle break in the hostilities. It's more that he will be looking for any hint that Bartholomew has, and pouncing on it as a reason to retaliate. Bartholomew... has always been one to use the rules to his advantage. He will seek to cement his position as much as possible."

"Well, I've found some rumours of angel killings again. It's obviously difficult to know for sure, because the police reports aren't always great for confirming them, and by the time I hear about it, it's only through the photo evidence and eyewitness statements. I could do with more people in law enforcement, but police and forensics are expensive to buy out. Police especially, because of how dangerous the job is..."

"Are there any patterns?"

"Other than the reports of charred wing-marks... it's weird. They seem to be happening in small groups, and the last group actually had some hits on the angel database, which makes me think that the others were linked, but picking off the undecideds, and the ones in deep cover. Which is bizarre as, because I would've thought he'd go for starting up a war between the two sides again, by targeting one group and making it look like a calculated hit."

"I see. Is there anything else important?"

"Well... there's this mark that was seen in two of the crime scenes, which is why the Feds are involved, because it totes looks like a serial killer... here..." She pulled out a print of a strange sigil which Cas didn't recognise: it looked almost like a stylised eye.

"Have you ever come across this sign before?" he asked, running his fingers over the paper.

"Nope. Never. I've even consulted the language specialists and the older demons to see if they know, but nothing. I was hoping either you or the boss would know."

"Perhaps Crowley does, but I do not. It seems like I should know, but... I do not recall ever seeing this before. Perhaps it is a new creation? Metatron is a Scribe, after all."

"Maybes. Well... I've got tabs on this operation, now, because they're treating them all as linked, so hopefully any future crimes I can get the heads up in time for you to send the Winchesters to investigate?"

"Yes, that would be ideal. Thank you, this is very helpful."

"No problem... it's what I do best, you know!"

"How are you, though? It has been strange seeing less of you, after all our time in the hotel together."

"Oh, I'm good. Keeping myself busy, so I don't get bored. I really do like my work, ya know?"

"I can tell. It is admirable."

"AJ misses his uncles," she said with a little grin. "He keeps sitting on the edge of the couch and meowing in protest when I try to pet him. I think he really took a shine to you."

"Had I my powers, I would speak with him for you. I could still do it, but I would not be able to understand his reply."

"You... talk to cats?"

"Indeed. They are very intelligent animals. Much more intelligent than many give them credit for. They are also unashamed by their liking of pleasure."

"Well... maybe you and Crowley could come over for dinner some time, then, and you can tell him to stop being a sulky puss?"

"Of course. I would love to."

"Great! Okay, unless you've got any more questions?"

"Just one: could you send this information to Sam and Dean, for their input?"

"Already done, boss!"

"You really are too good at this, I can see why Crowley respects you so much."

"Well, it ain't for my meatsuit," she said, with a self-aware little laugh.

"If he were not already spoken for, you would make a fine companion, Cecily. In another life, I am sure he would have been tempted."

"...I'm gonna take that as a compliment, even though it was a bit weird," she said. "But I can see why he likes you. You're pretty okay yourself."

"I will tell him you've invited us, when he gets back. And if he can recognise that mark, I will let you know."

"Okies! I'll speak to you soon." A little nod of her head, and he left her with more questions than he'd had before she came.


	43. Chapter 43

Sam slid his cell phone back into his inside pocket with a little grin, shaking his head at Dean's glance. He'd tell him after.

"So, the sole survivor is at the hospital right now, but she isn't really that much of a suspect," the local policeman said, as they navigated through the outlines of several bodies, all surrounded by the tell-tale shadows of scorched-out angel wings. 

"Why is that?"

"Well, Agent Burke, if you saw her, you'd know. Everyone else was dead, and she was a babbling mess. Kept bleating on about the end times, and all weird crap."

"And you think she was a victim? If she's talking about the end of the world, isn't it possible this was a religiously motivated cult suicide attempt?" Dean asked.

"...uh, I guess. We just thought it was some whack job and she went crazy from all the killings. She was hurt pretty bad, you know."

"Right. Okay. Well, thank you for your co-operation. We'll speak to the survivor, next."

"Good luck with that. She's really not the kind you want to be talking to, but I guess you Feds get the craziest of the crazies all the time, right?"

"Yeah, that's what we're here for," Dean agreed, and cocked his head back towards the Impala.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Dean sighed. "Is it me, or do the local cops get dumber as the years go by?"

"Well, it makes our job easier when they don't suspect anything further," Sam said, with a shrug, "...and we see some pretty weird stuff, so I'd like to think the day to day stuff is all done better. You can't really expect the local cops to know how to deal with angel killings, or Vamps, or Werewolves."

"I suppose... so what was the message before?"

"Believe it or not, it was Cecily. Turns out the real Feds have picked up on these mass sigil-killings, and now she's started collating the evidence."

"Nice to know we're still ahead of Hell's curve," Dean said.

"By a couple of hours, but yeah. I've been thinking: we don't necessarily want to do it long-term, but until this is over, we might want to set up some feed to let Cecily know about where the map's lit up in the Bunker. She has resources we don't have access to, and if we can work together on this, it might just be the break we need to catching Metatron."

"Alright. Find some way to do it that's all in our control, though. Crowley might not take advantage of it, but this Cecily chick we don't know at all, and even if they both are reliable, all it takes is another Abaddon and we're all up a creek with no paddle."

"Do we have any intel on this survivor, other than her name?" Sam asked, as they made their way to the hospital.

"No, sounds like they've pretty much written her off as a nutjob. She said her name was Hannah, but all the ID on her was for a Zoe, so either she's got a bad case of MPD, she's lying, or..."

"Or she's an angel," Sam concluded. "Got to wonder why she survived, if all the others didn't."

"Could be a trap," Dean agreed. "Could be the killer was sloppy, or could be a message. You know, to fuck with us."

"We should go in with a banishing sigil ready," Sam said. "And not give the game away. She might not recognise us, but I'd not put it past Metatron to have prepared her for two humans visiting. We're not exactly well liked in Heaven these days."

"Right. Let Cas know where we're going, in case anything happens. We also gotta keep the pace up, if the real Feds are coming, too."

"Will do."

*** 

"...so she just walked out?" Dean asked, biting the inside of his mouth and trying not to let his irritation show completely in his voice.

"Look, I know you wanted to talk to her, but she wasn't under arrest, and she was hurt pretty bad. We didn't think she was going to run. We just do not have the staff or the facilities to restrain everyone we think might be needed by the law enforcement agencies."

"Even when they're involved in mass-killings?"

"What do you want me to say? We can only restrain someone if there's an emergency where we have serious concerns about severe harm. There was no such suspicion when she was admitted, and the police didn't order it, either. We had no idea she was going to go missing."

"You got any CCTV we can check, to see when she went, or maybe where?" Sam asked.

"Look, I'm just a nurse. You need to talk to one of the security staff."

"Okay, could you point me in their direction?"

The nurse seemed to be all too happy to be rid of them, and she pointed them in the direction of the office. "To the end, first left, and second door on the right."

"Great, thanks," Sam said, urging Dean to follow.

They'd only got as far as the corridor before they found a young woman in a gown trying to fend off two security guard and one nurse.

"...you still need treatment," the nurse was insisting. "Please. It's the Hippocratic Oath. We'll do what we can to help you, and if you feel in danger, you can go to the police for protection. We can get them to put you under supervision if you have genuine concerns."

"You wouldn't be able to keep me safe! I'd just get your people hurt! Don't you understand?"

"Agents Burke and Caffrey," Sam said, striding closer, flashing his badge. It was one of Dean's sillier sets of identities. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Our patient here thinks that whoever attacked her is coming back," the nurse said, sounding exasperated. He didn't sound like he believed her, either.

"No one in this hospital is safe if I stay!"

"How about you give me and my partner here ten minutes?" Dean offered. "Ten minutes in the security office. We can sit and talk through your concerns. If we convince you, you'll stay for treatment. If we don't, you're free to go, because you're free to make your own choices about your care plan?" He turned to the nurse and guards. "That sound fair?"

"Sure," the nurse agreed, running a hand through his hair. "I've got concerns about her health if she leaves without finishing treatment, but it's her choice at the end of the day. If you're happy with that, Zoe, I'll leave you with these two agents."

'Zoe' looked back and forth between them, then reluctantly nodded. 

"Great. Okay. Give us ten, folks? Go have a cup of coffee or something?" Dean suggested to the security guards.

"Alright," one of them answered, then cocked his head to his partner.

When all three had gone, Sam opened the door to the security room and waved the patient inside. She walked over to one of the chairs in front of the CCTV monitors, hands clutched in her lap, wringing in distress.

"It's Hannah, isn't it?" Sam asked, easing into another of the chairs.

Her eyes flickered suddenly with fear, but she didn't answer.

"It's okay," Dean said, shutting the door behind him. "We know who you are, and what you are. We're not here to hurt you, we're here to find out what happened in that warehouse, and to try to help you."

"You're not like me," she replied, looking from one to the other. "Who are you?"

"I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean."

She pushed to her feet then, the chair sliding back on its castors and rolling into the desk.

"Yeah, we get that a lot," Dean shrugged. "We know you're an angel, and we know the other people who were killed were angels, too. We're working with some ourselves, and we know it wasn't our friends who did it to you. Which leads us to believe it was Metatron's side that attacked you. That sound right?"

"...yes," she admitted, reluctantly. "There was a... a call... I cannot describe it to you. I just knew I had to answer it, and when I got there, I was not alone. There were many angels already there. It felt... safe, to begin with, but then the doors slammed shut and another angel arrived, someone I do not know well, but I believe his name is Remiel. He was... he was in prison, in Heaven."

"...like Gadreel," Sam mused.

"Gadreel? He is also free?"

"When Metatron broke Heaven, everyone upstairs came down in one go," Dean told her. "He tried to get Gadreel to work for him, probably realising he'd be more open to bending the rules or doing things to keep his freedom. When that didn't work, he probably went for the other bad eggs."

"Who... who do you work with?" she asked. "I know you were supposed to be the Michael Sword and Lucifer's vessel, but when that didn't happen..."

"We're trying to help Castiel," Sam answered. "Metatron tricked him, and he is responsible for all of this. We're trying to get Heaven back open. Even Bartholomew and Malachai and their groups are working with us against Metatron."

Something flickered in her eyes again, but it looked... more like hope. "Remiel offered us the chance to side with the 'new God', he said if we did, we could return to Heaven. Some of my siblings said yes... I can see why. Those who didn't... he..." Her voice broke, and she walked back until she hit the chair, then sunk into it.

"I'm sorry about that," Dean said, "but if you come with us, maybe you can help us work out what's going on. Maybe you can help us track that son of a bitch down. I know a couple of angels who could help stitch you up, too."

"...Castiel?"

"He's... he's currently... indisposed," Dean said, cautiously. "But Balthazar has a pet Reaper. We can call him right now, if you want. Or... in the car, so the hospital doesn't get suspicious about you walking out of here all patched up in one go."

Hannah considered this for a moment, then she nodded. "Okay. Yes. But I want to speak with the other angels you are working with. I want to tell them what happened."

"Believe me, they're all gonna want to talk to you, too. Right... let's tell the security guards you're being transferred to us for protective custody, and get you patched up." Sam stood up, offering her a reassuring smile.

"...thanks. I... I don't know how to thank you enough..."

"Help us take down that asshat, and we'll call it quits," Dean answered.


	44. Chapter 44

Bartholomew was trying very hard not to show his distaste, but it was difficult. It was true that vessels were hard to come by, and after the Fall from Heaven, far too much time had been taken up in the scramble to find enough of them. Still, Metatron had been on Earth much longer than any other angel, and he'd had all that time to find himself a better vessel. Why would he pick an older, shorter, dishevelled looking one? And why would he dress it in such casual - even scruffy - clothing? Didn't he realise what his appearance said about him? 

It was tempting to just attack him right now, to run him through with an angel blade and claim the victory as proof positive of his claim to power. If he killed Metatron, he was sure that everyone would hail him as the new chief. There was the small matter of Heaven, though, and the fear that if he did that then they would be forever stuck on this planet, but... tempting.

He did remember the stories about Metatron being immune to holy fire and banishing sigils, which made him wary. If he did attack, he would show his hand. There would be no going back then, and he was as dangerous an enemy as he was powerful a friend.

"It's been a long time, Bartholomew." Metatron greeted him with a smile that made his vessel's skin itch and crawl.

"Indeed it has. I admit, I was surprised when your people reached out to me. I didn't think you were in the market for talks."

"Of course I am. You think I'm doing this for any reason other than the greater good? Heaven had become corrupt, twisted, bloated. Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold... There was no true leadership, and no sense of common purpose. It needed a firm hand to take control again... but I'm no monster. I want what's best for angels, and I'm always ready to talk peace."

"You speak of peace, and yet you were the one who caused this conflict."

"Was I? I was calmly in hiding, until Castiel came along. It wasn't until he came to me, asking for my help, that I realised quite how bad it had gotten upstairs. I couldn't sit by and let everything go to wrack and ruin, could I? Something had to be done."

"And you were the one to do it."

He watched the shorter angel make an expansive, faux-self-abasing gesture. "I was there, listening to His words. I understand what He wanted more than anyone... and when He left, I should have stepped forwards then... I admit, I heard the call and I ignored it, and we all paid the terrible price. Conscience makes cowards of us all."

"And now you call yourself God? How do you manage such blasphemy?"

"But what is God? Isn't He dead? I mean, the last one? If he were human, you could consider him legally dead by now, and any marriage would be annulled. Is God simply who made us, or is 'God' who leads us, who wields His power?" 

"You say you have God's power?"

Another slight bow, and that grin was so very smug. "I do. And if leading Heaven, and having His power makes me God to my followers... well. Who am I to deny them? If it gives them comfort to think it?"

"So why did you ask to see me? You must know that I am working with other groups."

"Of course. That's why I'm offering you an olive branch. If I understand correctly, you were set to be the most powerful opposition to me. You had the most followers, you were the best organised, the most dedicated... and now? You're... what, exactly? Part of some strange little cease fire?"

"I am still in control of my followers," Bartholomew answered, his eyes narrowed, his lips thinned with the insult.

"You might be, but who is in control of you? I can't imagine you've got control of Malachai... he's headstrong, he always was. And Castiel? He isn't even an angel right now, but for some reason you're following around on his coat tails?"

"He is not in command. There is... there is a dialogue."

"Let me guess, a dialogue he initiated? And before long, what will it be? He'll use you, and your people... he'll get your angels to do his dirty work, and he'll take all the glory. You know that's what will happen, don't you? And then what?"

"Please, you seem to have figured this all out."

"I'm a reader of current affairs," Metatron said, airily. "And then, having used your acumen, he will take the victory, and he'll claim it was his plan, and they will laud him, they will throw him a triumph, and you? You, my friend... you will be relegated to some minor position. You won't get the praise you deserve for saving so many angels from chaos following the Fall. No one will recognise your groundwork, and they will all flock to someone who didn't even value his Grace enough to keep hold of it."

"You were the one who took it from him," Bartholomew reminded him.

"I did, but do you see him trying to get it back? I've heard the tales, we all have. How he's currently playing 'Sympathy for the Devil' on a loud-hailer. How he decided to take on Hell, but not to defeat it... oh no. He didn't want to get rid of evil from the world, he just wanted his own brand of evil back in control. Are those the actions of a leader you want to follow?"

"So you propose I make a run for power myself?"

"Think about it: you have the brains, the brawn, the position. You just need to show him up for the sham that he is."

"And... you would want me to openly side with you? To bring my forces over?"

"Not... straight off. First I need you to unseat Castiel, to work at undermining him, and showing him up for the fraud he is. It's a long plan, you see. If we do it, we have to do it right."

"You want me to be a double agent?"

"Got it in one! Yes. I want you to pull apart the lies in his campaign. And when you have, I want you to step into the breach, to take control of all the remaining factions. And when you do, you and I will publicly reconcile. We'll say that Castiel was the villain all along. We'll reassure our followers that we've got their best interests at heart, and always have."

"And you will remain... God?"

"If we use old terminology, yes. But you will be my Michael, and Castiel my Lucifer."

"I see. Where would we begin, then?"

"I knew you'd see sense... the first thing I need you to do is eliminate a few of the opposition's most staunch followers. We have to do it right, and you have to avoid detection. I'll give you instructions as to who we need to terminate, and when."

It sounded good, on the surface. Bartholomew was not one who liked to play second fiddle to anyone, but at least Metatron seemed to value his skills, where Castiel was always ready to criticise his methodology. And the more other ringleaders who were terminated, the stronger his position became. Perhaps in time he would even discover a way to get Metatron's power for himself, and then he truly could be in control. But that would come later, when he'd won his confidence.

"Just tell me what I need to do."

"Good man, that angel! You won't regret it. When we're finally back in Heaven, and everyone looks up to us... you'll be glad you picked the winning side."

Of course. Bartholomew always did.

*** 

Hannah bit her lip as Balthazar's Grace flowed over her vessel, mending lacerations, knitting skin and muscle back together. It was unpleasant, but it was better than the pain of her vessel trying to heal itself over time. She nodded a thank you.

"What did Remiel say?" Castiel asked.

It was strange looking at him. She could still see the traces of angel around him, the whispers where his Grace had been... but there were no wings hiding just out of normal sight, and his face was all human. His arm, though... that was neither human nor angel, and she worried about it.

"He said that all those who wanted to work for the glorious new God would fight for him, and one day would be allowed to return to Heaven."

"I see," Cas said, his eyes slightly unfocussed in thought. "What else did he say?"

"He said... he said anyone who didn't side with Metatron would die. Some... some of the others joined him. Angels I didn't know very well, mostly. They went to his side, and then... and..."

She jumped at the hand on her shoulder, and then she realised Balthazar was trying to be encouraging. "It's alright, you don't need to go into detail. We know what happened next."

"Did he say any more? Did he say what he wanted the new recruits to do? Or where to go?"

Hannah shook her head, then lowered it. "No."

"What about... how you managed to survive?" Cas asked. "Do you know why?"

"I don't," she confessed. "I was terrified. I thought I was going to die, but I still wouldn't change my mind and fight for such a monster. But... you? You're standing against him, aren't you?"

"I am... working with other angels to restore Heaven," the ex-seraph agreed, his eyes flitting to Balthazar and back. 

"You could do it. I know you could. You helped defeat the archangels. You could defeat Metatron." 

"I am trying to."

"I know angels," she said. "Angels who would follow you... though... your Grace?"

"Now, that's a bit of a touchy subject," Balthazar started.

"No, it's okay," Cas said, waving it off. "Metatron stole it, yes. But I am trying to get it back."

"You are... you're not an angel?"

"Yes and no. I still have access to angel radio, I can still hear prayers. I simply no longer have my wings, nor my Grace. But I am hoping to restore those."

"I see." She looked dubious. "But you could still defeat him?"

"I have... I have a weapon, and I have the start of a plan." Hannah watched as he rubbed his arm - the one she could sense something dark on - against his side. "It is a work in progress, as they say."

"Let me help. I can bring people to help. He needs to pay for what he's done."

"I agree with twinkle toes here," Balthazar said. "And we need all the help we can get."

"Alright. You should give Balthazar their names, and work on contacting them. I am beginning to think we need a central base of operations. We are currently too spread out."

"Oh, does this mean I get to go shopping for office furniture?" Balthazar asked, clapping his hands together. "Can I pick a matching theme? And organise the stationery orders?"

"...sometimes I wonder if you ever were an angel," Castiel said, with a shake of his head.

"Even Heaven needed interior decoration, and it's important that we have a theme, otherwise it looks like chaos."

"If it makes you happy, order... staplers and things." 

Hannah wasn't entirely sure how staplers would save Heaven. "Anything you need me to do, just say."

"Those names to start with," Cas said. "And we're going to need to start an outreach program. If we can get the factionless under our protection... it will be easier to keep everyone safe if we are all together. Do you think you could help contact the others on our list who don't have a declared side?"

"Yes... yes I can do that."

"Cecily will be able to get you their phone numbers and locations. I think... I think Metatron has pushed our hand a little too hard. We can't keep firefighting, we have to... we have to make a statement."

Hannah smiled. She'd hoped that Castiel would be the one in charge, because she'd not had faith in the others. The lack of Grace was worrying, but he was still a better alternative to the other three.


	45. Chapter 45

Sam walked into the Bunker's library, tablet slung under one arm, coffee cup held in the other hand. It was early, but there was still plenty of things that needed his attention. It was getting close to unmanageable, actually, because he didn't want to leave off the reports of other supernatural activity, but he also didn't want to let Cas and the angels go to Hell in a hand basket, either. 

Sharing some information with Cecily would probably help, but he was beginning to realise that it just was not possible for two Hunters to keep up with the workload. The Men of Letters had been less involved and more observers, but even they had been a huge network of 'Legacies' and not just two overworked brothers. What they really needed was to better mobilise the Hunter network, but with Bobby gone... maybe Charlie? She had the technical know-how, and she'd probably get a kick from all the retro equipment. She wasn't really a front-line type of person, and she'd play-acted at being a monarch, so orchestrating troops would probably be...

"Linda?"

She was lying on the floor, facing away from him. Sam put down his tablet and his coffee cup, hurrying over to her side. 

"Mrs. Tran?"

She didn't respond to him calling out, and she didn't seem to be breathing, so Sam dropped to his knee and shook her shoulder. She was stiff - rigor stiff - and cold. He rolled her over, and jumped when he saw her face. Her eyes... her eyes were burned clean out of their sockets, her face frozen in death. An angel had done this, he thought, even as he let go with a start, her lifeless body rolling back face-down. An angel had somehow gotten into the Bunker and assassinated her. But who? Who would do something like this?

" **DEAN**!" he yelled, before he realised that maybe the killer was still here. But if they were... Linda was cold and stiff, which meant she'd died at least three hours before, and he knew she'd still been alive when he went to bed the night before, so... 

"Dude, what is-- is... is that...?"

Sadly, he nodded, standing up. "Couple of hours, at least. An angel did it."

"An angel," Dean echoed, his voice flat. "An angel killed Kevin's mom."

"...or someone wanted us to think that, but her eyes are burned clean out."

"Where's Gadreel?"

"In his room, I guess."

Sam watched as a sudden snap of Dean's wrist flickered silvery metal, and he realised he was readying his angel blade.

"You think he did it?" Sam asked. "If he did, why would he hang around?"

"I dunno. This is the angel that let the serpent into the Garden of Eden, remember?"

"I know, but he was in my head, and... I don't think he'd do it."

"He lied to us about who he was, and then he tried to kill Crowley."

"Yeah, but he was trying to protect himself... why would it even make sense for him to kill Mrs. Tran?"

"Why does anything angels do make sense? Look. Let's just find him, and see if he looks guilty. And see if he can... fix this."

Sam had to agree the last part was a good plan, so he nodded and found his own angel blade. It paid to carry the things at all times, along with a few other choice bits of protection or defence. 

Gadreel was sitting on his bed, studying something intently. He looked up when they entered, and offered a polite smile. 

"May I help you?"

"You know what happened to Linda?" Dean asked, before Sam could even think how to start the conversation.

"No. Should I?"

"Well, she's lying in the library with her eyes burned out. Seems like the angel M.O. to me."

Sam watched as Gadreel dropped his own tablet onto the bed, rising to his feet. "She is dead?"

"Yeah, she's dead. Most people die when their eyes are burned out, not sure if that makes them the lucky ones or not. Even Cas did that once, before he learned how to use his indoors voice."

"So you had no idea?" Sam asked, even though he was inclined to believe that. Gadreel did not look at all guilty about it, or shifty, and although he had been deceived for a very long time by him, even about the whole Kevin thing, he just... he had a gut instinct about this.

"I did not. I am only sorry I was not there to ensure her safety. I never... I never thought she would be unsafe here."

"Yeah, neither did we," Dean said, gruffly. "So, can you do some hoodoo on her? Bring her back to life?"

Sadly, the angel shook his head. "I am afraid I cannot. There are certain deaths it is impossible to restore a body from, and one of those is damage caused by another angel."

"...'another' angel? As in, you could save her if you killed her?"

"No. I apologise, I was not clear: it is impossible for any of us to resurrect one we have slain in this manner. It is the same if we choose to enter a body which was not designed to be a vessel and withstand our presence, whether it is destroyed immediately or by degrees."

"Like Lucifer," Sam mused. "His vessel was falling apart, because it wasn't the right one."

"Indeed. Neither he nor any angel could keep that body going forever, after the damage he had done. Angelic power is... intense."

"So you're saying Linda's gone for good?" Dean asked. "Like, soul up to Heaven gone?"

"I am afraid so," Gadreel said. "I am sorry. She was a good woman."

"So how do we find out who did this?" Sam asked. 

"There are not many angels who know of this place, are there?" The angel was chewing on his lip as he thought, and Sam was caught by how human a gesture it was. "The ones who worked with us to kill Abaddon, and then Malachai, Bartholomew and their seconds-in-command. It must be one of that group."

"Or one they told," Dean added, almost as an after-thought. "No way for you to look at her and see angel fingerprints?"

"I... have never tried," Gadreel admitted. "If you show me to her, then I will see."

"You take him," the older Winchester said, "I'm gonna call Cas and ask him."

"Okay. But... be careful. We don't know if whoever did this is still around, or even why they killed her. We might be next on the hit list."

***

Sam watched as Gadreel dropped to a crouch beside Linda, his hand hovering an inch above her body. He wasn't sure what the angel was doing, but he didn't really want to interrupt.

"I have never seen a human killed by an angel before," he said, without looking up.

"I guess there's a lot you never saw, isn't there?"

Slowly, Gadreel slid his arms underneath her body, lifting her up. "Yes."

Sam followed as the angel carried her into her room, lying her body down on her bed respectfully. They would have to give her a proper Hunter's burial, but there was the small matter of the stuck souls, too. Until they fixed Heaven, she was going to be bouncing around. Not to mention Kevin was going to be even more cut up about not saying his farewells properly... this was beyond fucked up.

"I cannot see who did this. I am sorry. I... grieve for your loss."

"Can I ask you something? I understand if it's private, or not something you want to discuss."

"Sam, after what I did to you and your brother, you are welcome to ask me any question you desire."

"You were in prison for a really long time... why? Did you still believe in what you did? Or did no one ever offer you the chance to get out?"

Gadreel looked surprised by the question, and Sam wondered if he'd gone one step too far.

"Why do you ask that, now?"

"Because I get a feeling from you. I don't know why, but I do. I don't think you killed her - even if you'd have run, or not been there when we came looking for you, I wouldn't believe you'd do it without good reason to. Yeah, you've made mistakes, but you don't... you don't strike me as the 'evil' type. Lucifer was charming, but he did bad things. You? You're different. And I want to know why he made Hell, and you were locked up."

"It is... a fair question," Gadreel said. "Perhaps we should have this discussion in another room."

Sam nodded, and he backed out of Linda's room. He was aware, on some level, that he wasn't coping with it, that this whole conversation was his mind trying to find something else to put in the place of the horror. They'd seen so many people die, even close friends and family, but it still didn't get any easier when it was someone you cared about. Hunters grieved differently to others, but they still grieved.

"Lucifer would have let me by his side, when he Fell, but I did not want to go with him," Gadreel said, when they were back into the corridor. "But as to your other question, it is... complicated. I understand that what I did was 'wrong' in God's eyes, but I did not believe it warranted the punishment I was given. I had never intended harm, but I suppose I did not repent, either. And then there was no God to appeal to, and even if I had changed my mind, there was none who would listen or release me. I lost hope. I... despaired. And then, one day, I was free. I was on Earth, but I was free. I was an angel, and I approached a human, and he said 'yes'."

"Would you do it all over again? If you could?"

"I... do not know. I think I would not, but... I look around me, and though this world is Fallen, it is... it is still beautiful, Sam. Of course, I would not want the years of solitude and torture, I would never wish for those, but... this? Choice? Is it really that evil?"

"I guess I don't really know what I believe any more. Part of me screams that evil is bad and wrong, but you - and Lucifer - both had a point. If we didn't have it... what would life be? Nothing I'd recognise."

"What would you have said to the Morningstar, if it had been you in the Garden? Regardless of whether I let the serpent in or not, he would have found a way to tempt humanity, to offer the Fall."

"I still don't get why anyone would want to kill Mrs. Tran, though," he said, avoiding the question because it was too difficult to answer. "She wasn't a Hunter. She didn't hurt anyone."

"I do not know. I suppose it could be to send a message to you, or... or to control Kevin, though I would have thought that capturing her would be preferable to that end. Perhaps whoever it was tried to take her hostage, but realised they could not, and killed her?"

"I guess... Dean was right, though, if we don't know who did this, we're gonna need to all watch our backs. If there's a traitor in our ranks, we're all in serious danger."

"Is there any way we can find out who did do this?" 

"Would a Reaper know?" Sam wondered. "Could we ask April?"

"Potentially. Although, if her soul has not moved on..."

"We could ask her?"

Gadreel nodded. "It is possible. It might be difficult, as we have no idea what condition her soul will be in. From what I understand, normally souls only stay behind if they are unhappy, and they take some time to manifest."

"Well, if anyone knows about that side of things, it's gonna be April. Can you call Balthazar?"

"I already have."


	46. Chapter 46

"I'm not so sure this is a good idea," April said, eyes flitting between the others in the room. "She didn't die in a nice way, you're going to be asking her to remember a really horrible thing."

"Yeah, so she can get justice," Dean insisted. "I don't know about you guys, but I'd rather someone knew who had murdered me, so you could catch the bastard who did it."

"And we also have to make sure whoever did it doesn't hurt anyone else," Cas said.

"Well, you knew her, and I didn't, so if it's what you all think is for the best..." April looked around the small gathering, and didn't see any objection, though Sam looked a little dubious. She picked up the necklace that had belonged to her, and with a shudder... she was gone.

April Kelly's eyes opened, and she looked confused. "What's happening?"

"Linda?" Dean asked.

Linda - in April - looked startled at the voice that had come out of her mouth, and her hands were up and patting her face, before she looked down... then stared at her white hands. "What's going on?" She sounded more shrill than usual.

"It's hard to explain," Sam said, keeping his voice as level as he could. "But... I'm sorry to say you died. We were hoping you could tell us how, so we can catch whoever was responsible for it."

"I'm dead?" She jumped to her feet, eyes wide. "What's going on? Whose body is this? How am I talking to you?"

"We got a Reaper to find you," Cas explained. "As Metatron has sealed Heaven, your soul has been temporarily in limbo. The Reaper managed to find you, and pull you into that body in order to speak to us."

"So what happens when you're done interrogating me?"

"You cannot stay," Sam said, apologetically. "But we're trying to fix Heaven, so you'll be able to go there."

"You... you want to question me and... then what? I... I remember... darkness. I remember..." her head turned to Sam. "You. You found me? I think I could hear you, but only just."

"Yeah, I found you. You were in the study. Do you remember before that? You must have gotten up late at night, or early in the morning."

Her eyes were distant, as if she was struggling to remember something very, very far away. "Yes. I woke up. I don't know why, but something startled me, and I couldn't sleep. I went... I was going to look up something... I don't remember what..."

"What you were looking for ain't important," Dean said, trying to chivvy her along.

"If it got me killed then it must have been," Linda snapped back. 

"...yeah, okay. Sorry."

"It was... it was... angel names. I was looking for angel names. And then, then there was someone... someone I didn't really know well. He... he was tall. Taller than Castiel, but not as tall as Sam. Pale skin, blonde hair, bright blue eyes..."

"Did he speak?" Cas asked.

"Yes, but... I don't... I don't remember..."

"What was his accent?"

"Maybe... slightly Canadian..."

Cas looked at Sam, who was busy making eye-contact with Dean. When Sam looked over to him, Sam just nodded. He slid his hands over his tablet a few times, then displayed a slightly grainy photo. "This who you mean?"

"Yes! Yes. Him. He... he said something, but I can't remember, all I remember was he had lovely white teeth, a broad smile and a smart suit and how he looked slightly wrong and then... and..."

The vessel Linda Tran's spirit was possessing went pale, and her hands clutched onto the desk in front of her. Cas went around, putting a hand low on her back. 

"It's okay. We know who it is, now. You don't need to think about it any more."

"It hurts," she whispered. "I remember it hurt."

"Just relax," he said, rubbing in slow, soothing circles like Crowley sometimes did with him. "We'll get him. You're going to be fine."

"Kevin!" she said, and she jumped up again. "Kevin!"

"When we rescue him, we will tell him what happened," Cas promised.

"He's just a boy! Crowley said this would happen!"

Cas winced. Crowley did have a knack for predicting this kind of thing, it was true. "We will do everything we can to rescue him, and keep him safe."

"You said all that before," she bit off at him, her eyes flashing. "He was supposed to have a good career ahead of him. A life."

Sam spoke up, then. "I know, Linda, I know. And when all this is done, if he wants nothing more to do with all this, if he wants to escape for good, if there is anything we can do to help him, we will."

"Just... just let me go. I don't want to talk to anyone any more. This is Hell. I'm sure, it's Hell. Just... just tell him I love him."

Then Linda's head dropped forwards, and Cas was wrapping his arms around just as she sat back up again.

"Balthazar will be disappointed in you," April said with a grin. "Fancy taking advantage of me when I'm vulnerable."

"I... I did not mean..."

April laughed and shook her head. "I'm only teasing you. I know you're a happily married angel, even if you are easy on the eyes... I'm spoken for, too."

"So it's Bartholomew," Sam said, trying to pull them back on topic. "Which makes life easy and hard all at once."

"We do have the upper hand," Cas said. "He likely does not know we can find out it was him."

"And do we think all of his peeps are behind him?" Dean asked. "Is this gonna start off another civil war?"

"I don't know," Cas admitted, pulling slowly away from April. "I thought he was sincere in our pact, at least until Metatron was defeated. I suppose he thought he would be better playing both sides against the other."

"So how do we tackle this?"

"I... I do not know," Cas admitted.

"Well, I think the consensus before was 'gut the bastard'?" April asked. "Isn't that right, Dean?"

"We can't trust him. He killed Linda in cold blood."

"But if we kill him, how are we any better?" Cas insisted.

"So... what's your proposal? We tell him we know he was a bad angel, and order him not to do it again? Cas, in case you haven't noticed, we're kind of in the middle of a war, here."

"I know, Dean. I know... but even humans have conventions of war."

"You really wanna quote the Geneva Convention, Cas? Dude. Where the Hell would we keep a prisoner of war?"

"Hell."

"You... you wanna put an angel in Hell?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," Sam muttered darkly.

"You think your boyfriend would do that?" Dean asked.

"I believe he would. Crowley will be able to construct a cell to hold him, perhaps using chains similar to the ones you used on him," Cas pointed out, trying not to sound snippy about it.

"Right. Well." Dean looked distinctly uncomfortable. "If that's what you want, then fine. We'll try that. But if it all goes pear shaped?"

"Then we will kill him," Cas agreed.

"And what about the rest of his guys?" April asked.

"...we hope they listen to reason."

***

"This is all getting out of control," Cas said, as soon as April left him in their rooms in Hell. "It's too much, Crowley, it's far too much responsibility, and now there's this business with Bartholomew and I know that they're going to expect me to somehow take over and convince everyone to follow me and I just, I can't - I... I can't..."

Crowley was up in a blink, grabbing hold of Cas by the arms and shaking him slightly. "Wait, wait... slow down. One thing at a time, kitten."

"But it isn't!" Cas complained. "It isn't one thing! It's everything, and it's all at once, and I don't--"

A finger over the lips stifled the further outpouring, and Cas simply frowned underneath it, and then pouted intensely.

"I know you feel like it's all overwhelming, but it will feel like that if you let it. So you're going to take a deep breath and we're going to go through things calmer, alright?"

Cas glowered intensely, but when it became clear Crowley wasn't going to let up, he nodded gruffly.

The finger left, and Cas continues to frown for a few moments more, before he decided he'd punished Crowley enough, and also because he wanted to talk.

"Bartholomew killed Linda Tran," he blurted out. 

"He did?"

"She identified him verbally, and then visually."

"I see. Did she say anything else about the attack?"

"Nothing concrete. He said something she cannot recall, and he was alone, or at least Linda did not see anyone else."

"Right. Well. I for one never liked the slimy twat."

Cas nodded. "He was always... bloodthirsty. He has always been fond of power, too. I did not think he would stoop to double-crossing us to Metatron. Everyone wanted to kill him, but I didn't agree."

"Well... you wouldn't."

The ex-seraph smiled, pleased that Crowley understood. He knew he would, of course. "I said you would imprison him, at least until we restore Heaven."

"And I will, if that's what's best. But it isn't just that that's bothering you, is it? I mean, we're plotting Metatron's demise, and you're not so upset by that thought, so what's got your goat, my darling?"

Cas sighed heavily. "They all look to me, Crowley. All the angels. Balthazar seems to think that just because I managed to defeat Raphael that I am some sort of military genius. Hannah looked at me the way I wanted people to look at me, when I thought I was God."

The King reached up a hand to cup his cheek, thumb teasing the side of his mouth. "And it worries you, doesn't it? The idea you could go power mad again. Even though you've got the Mark of Cain and you're controlling that, not it, you. Even though you're truly doing this for all the right reasons, and this time you have all the help in the world?"

Reluctantly, he nodded again. "But it is more than just that."

Crowley tugged Cas down to the couch, and Cas gratefully burrowed in against him, feeling safe under his arm. 

"If you don't tell me, I can't help."

"They seem to think I... I can do it. They seem to think I have all the answers, when I don't. I did not really want to lead the battle last time, not to begin with."

"I know. You were never quite the cuthroat, Cas, and that's one of many reasons I fell in love with you. You'll be a good leader because you lead when it's needed, not because you want it."

Cas felt himself choke up a bit at that, and he wrapped his arms around the demon, face pressed into his neck. "You always know what to say to me."

"Of course I do, love. It's my job."

"So you think... you think I should do it? You think I should take control?"

"I think there's no one better for it. Bartholomew we already know is a backstabbing, murdering shit. Malachai doesn't have the strategic know-how to win a battle of Guess Who, and for all I think Balthazar is a scream and Gadreel is the life and soul of the party when he's not trying to murder me... who else, Cas? Who else could even do it?"

"I am not even an angel, though."

"Yes, yes you are. You might be Graceless right now, but you're still Castiel. You're still the little angel God made seraph, the little seraph God brought back... time and time again. All you can do is be better every time, or try."

"I do not want to rule Heaven."

"Nope. I'm glad you've learned that lesson."

Cas smiled, and pulled back just a little. "I have. I want to fix the problems, and I want to restore my Grace, but then... then I want to spend eternity with you. I will help my brothers and sisters, but not as their God."

"And you'll do a wonderful job of it, too," Crowley said, catching his chin between finger and thumb. "Now... I'm going to kiss you, my proud little soldier. You're going to do a fabulous job, and I'll tell you every day you need me to."

"I might need you to tell me very often," Cas replied, with the faintest hint of a smirk. 

"Then I shall, Castiel. I shall."


	47. Chapter 47

It had been a long time since Castiel had been forced to deceive anyone to this extent, and as a result, he felt slightly anxious. Before, as an angel, the sensation had been purely emotional and mental, but it was like everything else as a human: no matter how his mood was, his body would find some way to reflect it, and to put it into stereo, as it were. His palms felt clammy, his stomach felt heavy and far too mobile, and Cas was sure his cheeks were redder than they should be.

Bartholomew was more or less on time, assuming the knock to the hotel room was him. Crowley had kindly offered the use of his suite, and now they were back in Hell it wasn't like it was intruding upon their personal space. 

"Come in," Cas called out, trying to keep his voice as even as he could.

The door opened, and sure enough it was Bartholomew. He had with him a second angel, and Cas' gut dropped to somewhere by his knees. His plan was only for one of them, and he had no ruse to send the other away. This wasn't going to work!

"So good of you to come," Crowley said, over Cas' sudden panic attack. 

Bartholomew clearly didn't like being in the same room as the demon, let alone addressed by him. "Whatever I can do to help end this war as soon as possible," he replied, with the faintest inclination of his head.

Yes, Cas thought. The sooner you could get away from Crowley, no doubt. What did he plan on doing about that? Or did he expect once - according to his plan - Metatron let him and his followers back into Heaven he'd never have any dealings with Hell or Earth again? 

"I see you brought Darius," Cas said.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you properly," the younger angel said, with a much more earnest head-bow. 

"And you. I have heard good things of your prowess." It was probably why Bartholomew had taken to dragging him around, of course. Probably trained to be a bodyguard.

"You have intelligence?" Bartholomew asked. "Where are the others?"

"Balthazar had to work on something with the Winchesters," Cas lied. "And I wanted to discuss this privately with yourself, as it concerns Malachai." He looked over to Darius. "Would that be possible?"

"Anything you can say to me, you can say to Darius," Bartholomew insisted. "He's privy to all my plans."

Well, there went pure diplomacy, Cas thought, and he instead waved to a map laid out over a table. "I have some sightings to share with you, and only you."

Of course, that perked his interest. Cas let the two angels draw closer, and when they were in position he heard the tell-tale snap of his King's fingers, followed by the sudden flare of holy fire around them. Cas moved fast, jumping through the flames and to safety.

"...what are you playing at, Castiel?" Bartholomew asked, walking straight to the edge of the fire. 

Behind him, Darius looked helpless and frustrated.

"I needed to speak to you without you leaving, or without you trying anything untoward," Cas answered.

"We're brothers, Castiel. Doesn't that mean anything to you? You trap me like a dog, instead of speak to me like a brother?"

"No brother of mine would murder an innocent human in cold blood," Cas countered.

"I don't know what you're--"

"We spoke to Linda Tran," Cas said, not even letting him finish.

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, but the cool, calm façade was in place a moment later. "You did?"

"Oh, cut the innocent little halo crap, nerf herder," Crowley cut in. "You murdered her. End of. We know for a fact, and you trying to conceal it is pointless. So you gonna give us a good explanation - or a good laugh, anyway - or will you bleat on about your innocence a bit longer first?"

Cas watched as warring emotions ran riot over Bartholomew's face, before... at last... he shrugged. "Alright. I killed her. What is it to you?"

"Why?" Darius asked, sounding disgusted.

"Why? Because she was just a human, nothing more. Nothing special. I was trying to ingratiate myself with Metatron, so I could spy on his movements, so I could learn--"

"I'm going to stop you there," Crowley said. "We've heard this once before, only that time the angel in question had the balls to tell us what was going on, and he didn't try to kill the human, either."

"And look how well that turned out," Bartholomew countered. "You lost the Prophet, and you lost your chance to get in with Metatron. It was a complete failure. It was just a human, Castiel."

"If you haven't noticed," he bit off, his words acerbic and curt, "...at this precise moment in time, that is precisely what I am. And human lives are worth no less than angels', or demons'."

"She was just a human!" Bartholomew repeated. "Do you really value them above Heaven? You do, don't you. That's why you let him take your Grace to begin with."

Cas nearly broke back into the fire circle, and only Crowley's grasp around his wrist held him back. "I had no idea what he intended, Bartholomew, and I will tell you until I go blue in the face. But yes, I value all life as sacred, as you should, too."

"Humans are... temporary, Castiel."

Surprisingly, it was Darius who replied to that: "You sound like another angel I once knew, by sight, but not as a friend. That angel left Heaven. He was the first of us to Fall."

Bartholomew turned, and Cas watched in horror as an angel blade came flying down his sleeve and into his hand. In the confined circle, he lunged for Darius, and Cas wasn't sure if he intended to take one last angel down with him, or use him as a hostage to bargain for his freedom.

The blade slashed at Darius, who hissed in pain and leapt to the side, circling around the ring in a defensive crouch. He had one hand pressed to his side, and Cas guessed it was to stem the bleeding from a fresh wound. 

"Don't compare me to him," Bartholomew snarled, pacing after him, looking for an opening in Darius' defence. "Castiel is so ashamed of angel-kind that he beds a demon and wishes he was a human. Do you really want to follow him?"

"If he is honest, and true, and dedicated... then yes," Darius insisted. "I would follow him, demon and all."

"Then you're just as much of a fool as he is. See, even now he hides behind his filth and his fire, and he has you fighting me instead of face me himself."

Castiel had heard enough. He had his own angel blade out, and when Darius circled around so he was facing him, and Bartholomew was left briefly with his back to him, he leapt back into the circle and placed his blade across his throat. 

"Why should I treat you any better than you treated Linda Tran?" he asked, pushing harder until Bartholomew hissed slightly in pain. "She was a smart, caring, loving mother. She didn't want to be brought into this world. She wanted to be a normal human being, to live a normal human life... but she was helping, anyway. What had she ever done to harm you?"

"This is bigger than one human, Castiel."

"Bigger than one angel, too? Or ten? How many of our kind have you killed?"

"How many have you?"

"I killed during fighting, brother. I killed, but I showed mercy. When we were behind Raphael's lines, when they had surrendered..."

"I was doing what was necessary," the angel insisted. "I was following orders."

"You were killing because that is all you know," Cas replied. "But I know more than death. I know mercy, and I know the value of life." 

As he held his captive still, Crowley came up alongside him and grabbed for his hands. There was a brief scuffle, but then they had him cuffed. Crowley clicked the flames down, and Darius slumped back into a chair.

"You're making a terrible mistake, Castiel," Bartholomew said.

"Shut it, blue eyes," Crowley said. "Cas... shall I take him down to Hell now?"

Cas looked at Darius, who was wounded and who had insisted he would follow Cas, and he felt safe. "Yes. Please."

"You will--" 

Bartholomew must have finished his threat down in Hell, because then Cas was alone with Darius.

"You didn't kill him," the angel said, surprised.

"I do not want any deaths if they can be avoided. Even of my enemies."

Darius paused, then he stood back up. His hand was still pressed to the wound on his side. "I did not know what he was truly doing, I swear."

"I believe you. I am not sure how many of his followers were 'in' on it."

"I think not many. He did not truly hold many in his confidence."

"So you think the others will follow?" Cas didn't dare hope it, but if even his bodyguard was against him...

"I believe so, especially once they see you have shown him mercy, and you have prevailed. I will pledge my support to you, for what it is worth."

"Thank you," Cas said, clasping the angel on the elbow. "But you are wounded. I will call for help."

Darius' smile was a little plastic, and he nodded. "Thank you. It was not deep, but it did hurt."

"I suppose it is a good thing that Balthazar and April are in love."

"I heard that," the Reaper said. "You think I'm convenient."

"Oh no," Cas said. "You are much better than convenient."

"Charmer," April huffed, and flung herself on the chaise. "When this is all over, I'm taking your brother far, far away. And I don't care if Heaven is on fire, you're going to let us alone for a while."

"Oh, come now," Balthazar chided her. "You'd be bored if it was just the two of us."

"Fine. You can bring a friend."

"Just one?"

April's grin was wicked.


	48. Chapter 48

"I'm afraid I have some bad news," the Scribe said.

Kevin looked up from the book he was reading, frowning, but he didn't say anything.

"I have my sources on Earth. I keep an eye on the happenings."

"Spies."

"You could call them that... one of them brought me very bad news. I'm sorry to be the bearer of it, Kevin."

"Somehow I doubt it. What is it?"

The angel ran his fingers over the wall as he walked slowly into the room. "It's your mother."

Kevin sat further upright, and the book went down with nothing to mark his place. "What about my mom?"

"It appears she was murdered. It appears she was killed by one of the angels working with Castiel: Bartholomew."

"My mom is **dead**?" Kevin spat out, leaping to his feet. "Bring her back!"

"I'm afraid I can't," the Scribe said, with a long, expressive lift and drop of his shoulders. "Not if an angel has killed her."

"But you're running around saying you're God!"

"Even God has limits, Kevin."

"No, that's not what God is! God would be able to save her! And God could do anything he wanted!"

Metatron clucked his tongue to his teeth, sounding sad. "I wish you'd met Him, because maybe you'd understand. The old God wasn't all-powerful. If He was, why would He be gone? No... there are some things that have to happen. I am sorry she died, but it wasn't my side that--"

"You're lying!"

"I wish I was, in a way. Then it would make sense. I can't understand Bartholomew's actions," he lied, "...I suppose it was meant as a run for power. They will destroy half the planet in their greed if we let them."

"No! No. You're not turning my mom's death into some sick reason to get me to co-operate. Get the fuck out."

The angel let out a heavy breath, shaking his head slowly. "Kevin... I know you're upset, and you're hurting, but you should be angry with the angels responsible. This is who Castiel chooses to side with! This is why I had to do this in the first place: angels need a firm hand, or they run riot."

"Get. The fuck. Out." The Prophet's eyes flashed angrily.

"I'm going to give you some space to grieve," Metatron said, as magnanimously as he could. "I know it's not an easy thing to hear, and I know you're upset and you feel helpless, but believe me... I won't let this go unpunished. Angels need to remember their place, and they need to be brought back under control. If there's anything I can do..."

"Go choke on a typewriter," Kevin suggested.

Metatron smiled a grim smile. "I'll give you some space," he offered, and backed out.

He closed the door behind him and went back to his office, where his typewriter was actually waiting. It was a good spin, actually: getting the angels on Earth to turn on one another They needed a strong leadership to fall behind, not this factional nonsense with three chiefs and all the indians confused. Not to mention that having a red herring of a mid-game boss was good practice. Everyone could rally behind Castiel in their righteous indignation, but it would later cause misgivings when he played the 'human' card against him... oh yes.

Metatron wasn't stupid, though. If Bartholomew had managed to get away with his murder, then he'd have run with that storyline, too. But this one? This one was better, this one was the right amount of impetus, the best sort of conflict. Conflict, after all, was the key to any good story.

He cracked his knuckles and settled down to work on the next twist.

***

"He's in the garage," Sam said, when Cas and Crowley arrived.

"How did you know I--?"

Sam shook his head, a wry little half-smile on his lips. "I'm okay with whatever you did. It's Dean who is taking it personally. So you go explain things to him, and Crowley can tell me what happened."

Cas wondered if it meant he or Dean was the most easily read of the two of them. Sam had always been the more laid-back and understanding of the two, and he sometimes worried that the younger brother thought Cas played favourites. He had, once. There was the bond of Hell that had wound them together, and Cas had always been prejudiced towards Michael's sword over Lucifer's vessel, but now? Now he cared for them equally. It was just that it was sometimes harder to care for Dean when Dean didn't want it, so it took more effort.

"You are a good friend and a better brother, Sam," the ex-angel told him, and his fingers glanced against Crowley as he took his leave of them.

Sure enough, Dean was in the garage with the Impala. 

"I'm nearly done," Dean said from under the bonnet, as he tightened something that might not even have needed tightening. Cas' knowledge of cars really ended when he parked it. "I'll be out for dinner, I swear."

"I am not sure when your dinner will be ready, Dean," Cas replied.

"Cas."

Cas just waited patiently, to see if Dean was going to look up. Instead, the Hunter braced his hands on the sides of the car, staring at metallic working parts. 

"Hey, Cas," Dean said, after another pause. He pulled out of the car like there hadn't been a pause, but Cas had noticed it. Maybe more so than he would have as an angel.

"I came to give you good news."

"Oh, yeah?"

"We captured Bartholomew. He confessed to his crime in front of another angel. He is now in custody in Hell, and I believe that most of his followers will still work with us against Metatron."

"Well that's just peachy," Dean said, turning around to perch on the edge of his car. "So what comes next? Another Council of Elrond?"

"The angels need organising," Cas said "We must put something into place to win this, and then... then we can think about how to run things after." But Dean still looked upset. "...are you angry with me?"

"No, Cas it's just... it's just..."

"It's Linda Tran and her son, isn't it?"

Dean rubbed a slightly oily hand over his face, pulling his mouth down and looking up to the ceiling as if for strength. "Yeah. It's not... it's not good, okay. It's one thing, then another."

"I wish Bartholomew had not done it, and I did not expect he would ever make such a bold attack on her. I am surprised he did it at all."

"Well, he did. And it makes no sense, Cas."

"I agree, his motivation is suspect. I strongly believe that this was not his own idea."

"Metatron?"

Cas nodded, reluctantly. He hadn't wanted to discuss this with everyone. "He means to sow dissent amongst our ranks, I am sure. And doubtless the fact it was the Prophet's mother was in order to punish or control him, somehow."

"Well, it sucks. Kevin's just a kid."

"I am aware of his age, Dean."

"Say we do get him back, now he ain't got a family." 

Cas could see the lines of pain in Dean's face, and then he realised that this was about more than just Kevin. This was difficult for Dean, because he could still remember losing his own mother. "He has, Dean. He has you and Sam."

That got him a broken little laugh. "Yeah, like we're the family members you want turning up on your doorstep."

"Although I agree if you arrived it would likely mean trouble was following, but I also know you wouldn't come unless you were trying to save me, and I would want no one but you and Sam - and Crowley, of course - to be there for me, if I needed help."

"You know what? When we get him back, you're doing the talk with him."

"The... 'talk'?"

"Yeah. The pep talk. Seems somewhere along the line, you got good at it."

He couldn't hide his smile at that, it was rare for Dean to compliment him, especially on his social skills. 

"Thank you, Dean."

"Don't sweat it. Listen: you really think the angels will side with you?"

"Some of them, yes. Darius - who was Bartholomew's 'muscle' - seems to be a very sincere angel. Malachai respects strength. Balthazar would follow me almost to the end of the world, and I think, now, Gadreel would, too."

"Even... like you are?"

"You mean: without Grace?"

At Dean's little nod of yes, Cas bit his lip.

"I believe so. I know the sigil that Metatron used to call the angels to him. I was going to try it, myself, to catch all the remaining angels. I thought, then, that I could formulate some base here in Kansas. I would appreciate yours and Sam's help to organise it. Crowley has found me a suitable warehouse and Cecily has done the computer side of things, but I know you and Sam have incredible experience in this regard."

"Okay, sure. We'll help."

"It means a lot to me, Dean."

"I know. And... look. I'm sorry for getting on your case. It ain't your fault what your brothers do."

"No, but I understand your frustration. I do."

"C'mon. Sam's probably cooked enough for all of us. You fancy staying for dinner?"

"I would love to."

"...you can even keep your demon," Dean added, knocking shoulders with him as he walked past.

"I intended to."


	49. Chapter 49

It was looking good, Cas had to admit. There were maps, and blinking lights, and desks, and phones. It looked like that show Crowley had tried to get him into, once, the one where no one seemed to ever use the bathroom or eat. It had struck Cas as strange even as an angel, but he supposed that you had to 'suspend disbelief' if you were to follow the story, or the slightest thing would destroy your enjoyment of the artistry. 

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Cas asked, as out front more groups of stragglers came in from the cold. Some were those of Malachai or Bartholomew's followers who hadn't yet pledged their allegiance, but there were large numbers of previously neutral angels pouring in. He could see that tensions were high, and Balthazar and Darius were at the door, calming the newcomers, pointing them to the space inside the main room where they were least likely to encounter hostility.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"My plan is 'use the First Blade to make Metatron open Heaven', Crowley. It is not a very complicated plan."

The demon leaned in, pecking a kiss to the tip of his nose. "It could be simpler, you know: 'win'. There's no need to be complex, as long as it does what you need it to."

"But..."

"But what?" 

Cas looked down as the demon took his hands in his own, and danced them back and forth.

"Cas," the King went on, "...you're over-thinking it. We've got the power behind us now. We've got all Hell's resources, and practically every angel. You've got an unstoppable weapon. What does Metatron have?"

"Heaven, the tablet, the Prophet?" Cas replied, with a weak smile.

"You're just being negative now."

"I thought I was being realistic."

The demon arched up onto the balls of his feet and planted another kiss, this one in the middle of his forehead. "No. You're being a pessimist. The plan is a work in progress. You think anyone ever has all the things plotted out beforehand? Things happen you can't account for in advance, and that's okay. You just have to be ready to roll with them, but if you go out there with anything less than - oh - eighty-five percent conviction... then they're going to sense it, like sharks."

"So you want me to pretend to be more confident than I actually am?"

"That's a lot of what being a leader is. You don't have all the answers, but you do your best to find them out when the question comes up. You have the most loyal, wonderful people backing you up. I believe in you, my angel. I always have."

"There's no way I can convince Balthazar to take my place in this, is there?" Cas asked, with what he hoped was an utterly endearing pout.

"I love Balthazar, I do, but he's more of a plucky comic relief, or a right hand man than a leader of men and angels. You know that, too."

"I am not much of a leader."

"You? Come off it, Cas. You got half of Heaven behind you when you were just a seraph facing off against an archangel. And what's Metatron, but a jumped-up, two-bit pencil pusher? God, you could give him a paper cut and pour lemon juice in and he'd be begging for mercy. You got this, sweetheart. You got this."

Cas tried to puff his chest up. "Yes. I got this." He sort of felt he did, but maybe it wasn't eighty-five percent yet. Maybe it was closer to seventy-two.

The ex-seraph walked out into the main room and all eyes turned to him. Cas tried to keep his chest puffed up, because it was now or never. He scanned the crowd and caught sight of Balthazar (with, of course, April) who rolled his eyes in exasperation and then offered him the cheesiest grin ever, with two thumbs up. Cas had to bite his lip not to laugh. Then, to the side, Gadreel was hovering behind Sam and Dean. Only Sam was tall enough to conceal the angel, and Cas caught a few curious glances thrown at the outsider. Sam gave him an encouraging little look, and then Dean winked at him. Whatever he'd thought before about this plan, Dean was going to back him. They all were.

Cas opened his mouth to speak, and was surprised when all the monitors turned on. He turned to Cecily, who was sitting with what she called the 'hub' part of the technology, but she was furiously tapping at buttons.

" _Hello, brothers and sisters_ ," came Metatron's voice over various speakers, seemingly coming from every direction and ever so slightly out of synch. It made his voice reverberate unpleasantly, even more unpleasantly than usual, anyway.

"Metatron, what are you doing?" Cas asked.

" _I figured if you were going to do the whole rousing speech thing, that we should make this a real debate, not just a one-sided propaganda party_ ," Metatron said. " _That is what you want, isn't it? Angels to have that Free Will at last, the choice to pick the right leader?_ "

"Cut the audio," Crowley hissed at Cecily. "Cut it now."

"I'm trying!" she snapped back, still pressing buttons furiously.

" _Cut me? You won't even let me speak? What kind of enfranchisement is this? This isn't suffrage, Castiel. This is tyranny_."

Cas wasn't sure how Metatron could hear him, but he could, so he stepped towards the largest monitor bearing the angel's smirking face and addressed that. "What do you have to say?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

" _Finally... some semblance of manners. What I came here to do, is to say my piece_."

"You mean, lie?" Dean barked out. "We heard you out last time, and you freaking destroyed Heaven."

" _Heaven is fine, thank you, Dean_ ," the angel said, but his eyes still stared straight ahead through every screen. " _Yes, I was part of the closing of the Gates, but so was Castiel. Perhaps it was a little drastic, but things couldn't go on as they were..._ "

"And how is that, ducky?" Balthazar called out. "Perfectly fine and dandy?"

" _If it was all so great, why were angels like me in hiding? And I believe you, too Balthazar? If it was so great, why did Castiel come to me, begging me to help? He wanted this. He said Heaven needed fixing_."

"Fixing! But you haven't fixed it!" Cas was trying hard to control his temper, and suddenly it was there. Suddenly there was fire in his arm, and he grabbed the back of a chair, his knuckles white. "You threw everyone out, and how many angels died? How many in the Fall? How many since?"

" _Granted, it was extreme, perhaps, but you can't blame me for the fighting. I've been trying to foster peace and unity. It's your friends who are the blood thirsty ones. How many angels have died by your hand, Castiel?_ "

"None, since the Fall."

" _None? What about Hael?_ "

Damn. He'd forgotten her. "She... she attacked me."

" _Really? She attacked you. Interesting... and you weren't an angel at the time, but she was? I don't think you would survive a fight with an angel_."

"I used a car."

" _A car? Oh, that explains it, then. And... where are your allies? Where's Bartholomew?_ "

"You mean the angel you sent to kill the Prophet's mother?"

" _Me?_ " He put a hand on his chest, scoffing in affront. " _That was nothing to do with me. Trouble in Paradise?_ "

"Why else would Bartholomew kill a human?" Darius asked, sounding confused.

" _Oh, if you didn't know his feelings on them, you were living under a rock, Darius. And everyone said you were smart_."

"Enough, Metatron," Cas snapped. "You lied to me. You play at being God. Why don't you surrender? We can all work out some way to live in peace again."

" _You? Peace? I'm sorry..._ " he cupped his hand to his ear. " _What was that? Oh, yes. Last time you ended up in charge... what did you do to the angels who opposed you? Slaughtered them_."

"That... that was the Leviathans--"

" _No, Castiel, it was you. It was you, because you're Hell-bent on killing anyone who stands in your way. Where's Bartholomew?_ "

"He is in Hell," Crowley jumped in. "Where he belongs."

" _Oh, yes. I almost forgot about your penchant for the damned, Castiel. How many demons do you have, there? Just two? And then there's Gadreel, who was practically Satan's right-hand angel..._ "

"I did not--"

" _Be quiet, Gadreel, the adults are talking_."

" **Shut up** ," Cas snarled, crushing the chair's back tighter. " **Shut up**."

" _Oh, bit of a temper, too? So you're a human, you destroyed Heaven, you run around with humans and demons, and you have a history of killing angels who disagree with you? And you wonder why anyone would follow you?_ "

" **I SAID SHUT--** " 

Crowley had a hand on his shoulder, but Cas saw red. He threw him off with a heavy shrug - sending Crowley skittering backwards into a table, and then the chair's back splintered in his hands, the plastic sheering into nothing. Cas threw the remnants away, and he heard gasps, but that was it. 

" **YOU MURDEROUS, LYING... GET OFF ME CROWLEY!** "

"Kitten... kitten, you're worrying me..."

" **HE IS A MONSTER! HE IS A MONSTER AND I NEED TO KILL HIM! I'M GOING TO RIP HIS HEAD FROM HIS SHOULDERS AND I--** "

Crowley grabbed hold of Castiel, whirling him off.

" _See. That's the person you want to lead you?_ " Metatron asked. " _Come home, brothers and sisters. Come home to Heaven_."


	50. Chapter 50

" **WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!** " Cas screamed, shoving Crowley backwards.

"Cas... Cas. Look at me. Look at me!"

" **I NEED TO GUT HIM! TAKE ME TO HIM! I'LL END HIM! I'LL--** "

The demon put his hand over Cas' mouth, and the ex-seraph did the only thing he could think of and he bit into the palm. Ignoring the yelp of pain, he drove a fist into Crowley's side, trying to get distance. Everything was heat and blood and life and death, and he could see the weak points, he knew where to aim, where to--

Cas oomphed in shock as the King of Hell suddenly flung him with his powers against the wall. 

"Cas, angel, _stop_!" Crowley begged. "Please. Listen to my voice. This isn't you, it's the Mark."

"This **is** me," he hissed, trying to wriggle free from the invisible hand holding him still.

"No, Cas. You're not blood-mad like this. This is the Mark talking. Remember you worried it would rule you, and not it? Well. Now's the chance to prove you're stronger."

"Metatron must die! He's lying!"

"Yes, sweetie, I know that. Sam and Dean know that. Balthazar and April and Gadreel and Kevin know that. But the others will just see you in a murderous fit and side with him. This is playing right into his hands."

Cas could sort of see the sense to it, could understand the reasoning in the demon's words, but...

"Let me go."

"Not until you've calmed down."

"Damnit, let me go, demon!"

It had been a while since he'd used that as anything other than a term of endearment, and he could see how it had sliced right through his partner.

"This is for your own good, Cas. It's hurting me as much as it's hurting you, but I promised you I'd stay with you, and protect you, and help you however I could. And if that includes protecting you from yourself..."

Cas kicked and hissed and banged his head against the wall, and he didn't stop until Crowley stepped in close, wrapping arms around him. He kicked a few more times, weakly, and then there wasn't any power holding him in place, just Crowley's arms.

"It's okay," the demon whispered in his ear, stroking over his neck soothingly.

It wasn't. Cas shook his head.

"It's okay, honestly. Whatever happens, happens. But I'm here for you. We'll sort this out."

Harder he shook his head this time, and it hurt. It hurt in a tight band behind his eyes, and his jaw ached, and his ears, and his neck, and it was all tension but he was tense for a reason.

"...I fucked up."

"A little, but nothing terrible."

"I lost my temper."

"After what that dickhead did to you? Cas, you'd have to have the patience of a saint not to react to his baiting. But it's alright, now."

"It isn't." It wasn't. "It's been getting worse."

"The Mark?"

Glumly, he nodded. "Ever since Abaddon. I've felt... I've felt... cravings." He had, but he hadn't really known what for. Or... perhaps he had, but now he couldn't deny it any more.

"To kill?"

Cas swallowed, his mouth suddenly filled with ash.

"...I. Well. I can't say I am surprised. It's what the Mark and the Blade were made for. Lucifer never did anything by halves, as you well know."

"I can't control it," Cas blurted out. "It just... I saw red. I wanted to reach through the screen and bash his skull against the desk until it splattered the insides everywhere. I wanted to push the Blade so deep in his gut that I could sever his spinal column out the other side. I wanted--"

"I get the picture, angel," Crowley said, pulling him over to the couch to sit down again. "Cain learned how to control it, so I know you can. Maybe not straight off. And Cain managed to pass the Mark on, so it's not like you're stuck with it forever."

"But if it was so easy, why wouldn't he have got rid of it before?"

"If he was as reformed as you said, he likely didn't want to burden anyone else. Least, not until someone needed it for good reasons." 

Cas closed his eyes as two hands cupped his face, the gesture calming and grounding. His head was still swimming with the need to hurt, but away from the source of irritation it was getting easier. A little.

"When I kill him, we have to see Cain again," Cas said. "We need to ask him about it properly. Ask his advice."

"We'll do that, my dearest one, I promise. But we need to get back and convince them all you can still win this, before you lose momentum."

"How... how do I face them like this?" Cas asked, looking up through tear-damp eyes. "How do I convince them I am not a monster?"

"The same way I did, to you. Painfully, but doggedly. You want this. You want this, so you have to do it. I know you don't want to face them, but you have to. The longer you're away, the worse it will be."

Taking a shaky breath, Cas nodded. "Okay. Take me back."

***

"I tried... Cas, I tried..."

Cas' heart fell, and he tried so very hard not to let it show on his face, but here at their newly equipped 'HQ', the only ones still there were Sam, Dean, Balthazar, April, Gadreel, Darius and Hannah. That was it.

"I know you did," Cas told Balthazar, clapping him on the arm in what he hoped looked leaderly and strong. "Thank you."

"What... what happened?" Hannah asked, and the female angel was dancing from foot to foot with her nerves.

"I have this," Cas said, deciding full disclosure was the best. "It is Cain's Mark. I took it to slay Abaddon, and I am keeping it in the hopes it will force Metatron to back down. He... he is no longer bound by holy fire, or banished b

"I know you did," Cas told Balthazar, clapping him on the arm in what he hoped looked leaderly and strong. "Thank you."

"What... what happened?" Hannah asked, and the female angel was dancing from foot to foot with her nerves.

"I have this," Cas said, deciding full disclosure was the best. "It is Cain's Mark. I took it to slay Abaddon, and I am keeping it in the hopes it will force Metatron to back down. He... he is no longer bound by holy fire, or banished by Enochian."

"He's... he's not?" Hannah looked bewildered. "What does that mean?"

"I suspect he is using the angel tablet," Cas explained. "Which is the Word of God. Metatron was the Scribe who took the dictation. It is an object of great power, and one he stole from us."

"Yeah, Lucifer had it locked up, that's how big a deal it was," Dean said. "And now Speak and Spell is using it to play God."

"The other angels all left," Darius said, seeming to half-ignore Dean. "I will admit, I am not sure whether I should follow them or not."

"You know I'm not... you know I'm not violent. Not any more. You know I spared Bartholomew, when we could have killed him," Cas said, trying not to sound like he was pleading. "He is a liar. It is what he does. He tricks people, and he manipulates them."

"And he was responsible for deaths, too," Hannah added, softly. "He might blame you for them, but I know it was Remiel working on his behalf who slaughtered everyone who said no."

"I... believe you," Darius said. "I do not know how such a small number can stand against--"

"I'm going to interrupt you right there," Crowley said, a finger in the air, waiting for silence. "You're looking at the angel and two humans who stopped _Lucifer_ , Michael, and Raphael. You're looking at the merry band that had prevented the Apocalypse, the slaughter of humanity, and generally been a thorn in my side from day one. Numbers don't matter, when you have the right people."

"Yeah, well, we love you too," Sam snorted.

"Oh, Moose, you know life would be less interesting without me."

"Maybe more peaceful," Dean mused.

"What I'm trying to say is: with a small, crack force? We can do anything." Crowley winked at Cecily. "Isn't that right?"

"Much as it pains me to ever say this," Balthazar drolled, his voice heavy with weariness, "...the demon is right. We can still win this thing. And when we do, we'll throw the biggest 'Fuck You' party the world has ever seen."

"...where do we even start?" Hannah asked.

"Well. I have a few leads," Cecily chirped up, seeming to find her voice now the great mass of angels had gone. "And now I can put the processing power of the spare machines into my searches."

"You think of everything," Cas said, fondly. 

"Research! Great. Tell you what, you guys start it off, I'll go do a supply run," Dean offered. "Anyone want to come with?"

"Hannah, could you help Dean?" Cas asked. 

"Sure thing."

"Please get plenty of donuts," the ex-seraph said. "And caffeinated beverages. And burgers."

"...anything else?" Dean asked.

"No. I believe that will be adequate."

It was going to work, Cas thought, sliding his sleeve back down and trying to ignore the itching feeling. It was. 

Just differently to his original plan.


	51. Chapter 51

"If I'd known you liked it cold, I would have made it that way," came a voice from behind his shoulder. Cas jumped, and realised he'd fallen asleep over his desk.

"I don't," he said, sheepishly. "I fell asleep."

"Maybe you should have drunk it, then," Crowley said, pushing the suddenly steaming-again mug of coffee towards him. "Or should I be giving you cocoa and tucking you in for the night?"

Cecily was still hard at work, and so were Sam and Dean. Gadreel didn't need sleep because he was an angel, but Balthazar and April had bunked off for the evening. Darius and Hannah had also left, but promised to come back the next day. He surveyed their sadly depleted team. "I shouldn't."

"Because the brothers are still up? Please, Cas. They might be used to operating on little to no sleep, but you don't have their years of training at it. The world isn't going to end if you come back with me, and fresh eyes in the morning will see things better than tired ones now."

"I just don't like stopping when we're so close to the end," he said, rubbing at the grit in his eyes. "I feel like I should just keep going until we fix this."

"Do you really think you'd be in any fit state to face off to Mother Goose like this?" Crowley asked, pawing at the back of his wheely-chair, rocking him gently. "He'd take one look at you, huff, puff, and blow you down."

"You are getting your stories mixed up again."

"It was deliberate," Crowley said, without missing a beat. "Fusion. It's all the rage, you know."

"I think you just say these things at times to cover up," Cas said, accusingly. "Fine. Fine, we'll go back, so long as you promise to stop shaking my chair. I'm starting to feel nauseous."

"If you're going to barf, you can do it in the bathroom here. I don't want our place reeking of your cheap burgers half-digested."

Cas made a face at that, why did he have to be so very crude about these things? Didn't he realise that made his stomach churn even more? Bloody demons. "That's true love for you." He pushed up and stood in front of him, looking as doleful as an abandoned puppy. "Come on then. Whisk me away from this vile place so I can sleep."

"Your wish is my command, my Consort," Crowley said, taking one hand in his and vanishing them back to Hell 

It was less nauseating than Cas had feared, but he still was not too happy about all the flitting around At least Crowley's method of travel did not 'back up' things like Dean complained angel-wings did, but it still left your head sort of spinny. Cas stifled another big-cat yawn into his hand, and then held his arms out as Crowley started to peel the clothing from him fastidiously.

"You're going to fall asleep standing at this rate," Crowley chided, yanking at one cuff to get it to go over his wrist.

"It would be a new skill if so."

"I've seen people sleep in the strangest of positions, believe me," the demon added, as he bent to shove Cas' pants down. 

Both hands on Crowley's shoulders for balance, Cas lifted one leg then the other, kicking the offending things free. When he was utterly naked, he held his hands out expectantly.

"...have you lost the use of your legs?" Crowley asked, head to one side, as he stood up with a little grunt that Cas suspected was all for show.

"No, but I'd like the use of yours."

"You're four inches taller than me!"

"You picked that meatsuit, not me," Cas complained, and flung his arms out even more dramatically. He was aware he was being prissy, but he was sure the demon would take it in good humour. "Come on, my King, you can carry little old me. I don't even have a Grace to weigh me down. Imagine how heavy I would be with my wings intact."

"If you had your wings intact I would kick your arse into bed properly," Crowley snarked, then grabbed him in a bridal carry.

Triumphant, Cas locked his arms around Crowley's neck and nuzzled against his ear. "If I had my wings, I would fully expect you to."

"And if you weren't so tired, I'd beat the lip out of you and then kiss it better."

"I might pass out if you tried to beat me now," Cas mused, kicking his feet just a little "But could we do the kissing better?"

"So you can snore in my mouth?"

"It's romantic to feel comfortable enough around your partner to fall asleep," Cas claimed. It probably was. He wasn't sure. "And you can kiss me harder in the morning, when I'm rested."

"You really do know how to turn a demon on, Cas. Why don't you fart at me while we're at it." 

Crowley threw Cas lightly down onto the bed, and for a moment Cas thought he might actually break wind at the impact, but it was a false alarm. "You said you didn't mind me being a human."

"I forgot how much humans smell," Crowley said, devesting himself just as carefully, putting all their clothes to one side. 

Cas watched with tired, but hungry eyes as more and more Crowley was revealed. His spirit was willing, but his flesh was weak. Quite despite himself, another heavy yawn trickled out, and he started to roll himself into the duvet, making sure there was no chance of cold getting in, or heat getting out.

"Should I be leaving you in peace?" The demon hesitated at the side of the bed. "You seem to have made yourself into a very appealing fajita."

"I'm a burrito!" Cas exclaimed.

"Oh, I'm sorry I misidentified your chosen Mexican food pronoun, your burritoness, that was very inconsiderate of me."

"If your feet are warm you can get in."

"My feet are as toasty as the pits of Hell themselves."

Cas nodded at the bed beside him, and when Crowley lay down, Cas wrapped one side of the duvet around him, too.

"Are we an extra-large burrito now?"

"Yes. Twice the meat," Cas agreed, and started to wriggle himself comfortable against the demon. He was, as promised, warm. Once comfortable, he sighed happily. "How are we going to get Metatron to--"

Really? A finger on his lips? Cas nipped at them, and frowned.

"No talking shop in bed, angel."

"What if I'm in bed and you're not?"

"No talking shop if either of us is in bed."

Cas sighed heavily, and started to pout. Crowley wasn't looking, so it was a waste of a good facial expression. A little jab of the elbow meant his attention was directed accordingly.

"I told you, Cas: sleep. You can think about Metatron in the morning. After the kisses and the French toast."

"There's going to be French toast?"

"Only if you behave."

"...behave well, or poorly?"

"Cas!"

"Fine, fine..."

"Honestly, kitten, I don't know what's gotten into you. You're even more ornery than usual. I'm going to ban any further supernatural tattoos or marks of power for the foreseeable future after this."

"I won't complain about that edict." No, he really wouldn't. Cas put his own feet on Crowley's, and was gratified by the little hiss. His own feet were not quite as warm as they could have been. He had, perhaps, had ulterior motives in blanketing Crowley against him.

"You're a horrible human being," Crowley complained, and kissed his cheek.

"Maybe I'll sell my soul and be an even worse demon," Cas snarked.

"Don't even joke about that."

"Why?"

"Just... don't. You're my angel, okay?"

"Being a demon isn't that bad. You and Cecily are fine."

"Yes, but you didn't see us before we mellowed, darling."

"But if you're in control of Hell, you won't have to torture me for decades, will you?"

"...no."

"So it's fine."

"I'm still vetoing it as a solution unless there's nothing else left."

"Fine! Fine. I'm not going to sell my soul unless I can't fix being an angel. Okay?"

"Okay." Crowley curled in tighter, tucking Cas' head under his chin. "I just worry about you, is all."

"I know you do."

"And I want to keep you safe."

"I know you do," Cas repeated, patiently.

"And I think we should get a hedgehog."

"A... what?"

"I was just checking you were actually list--"

Cas got a pillow and smacked the demon straight in the face with it, before curling up around it like a little hedgehog himself. "You're not nice when you're like this."

More laughing, and apologetic kisses over his shoulders. Cas felt the demon spoon up behind him, an arm slung over his waist and his knees pressed into the bend behind Cas'. "I'm sorry. But you really should sleep, now. Because if you stay awake much longer, I might be forced to try ravishment."

"Don't tempt me." But there was another yawn. "Okay. In the morning. Consider yourself on a promise."

"I will, kitten, oh I will."

***

"You do? Viral? That little shit's done it on purpose. I know he has. Is there a geo-location? Oh you got that from the landmarks? Have I told you recently you're a genius? Well I'm saying it again... yes. We'll be right there. Get everyone else up, too, we'll bring the Starbucks."

Cas groaned from under the fortress of solitude he had created in the bed. Somehow, in the night, he'd managed to bring all but one of the pillows in under the covers, tugged the sheet free in one corner and disappeared from sight under the artfully decorated Egyptian cotton. 

"Kisses," he mumbled. "French toast."

"Yes, I promised both of those," Crowley agreed, and there was a sudden smell of warm bread, egg and... caffeine? "It's a little more hasty than I wanted, but Cecily has a lead."

"Toast," Cas said, and shoved a hand out from under the covers.

"Out of bed. Crumbs."

"Demon."

"Yes, I am."

"Shut up, give me toast, and no one dies. Mark of Cain."

"The Mark of Cain does not entitle you to anything you feel like, you little shit." 

Cas waved his hand a few more times, but no toast was forthcoming. He sat up grumpily, and made his best upset face again. It was probably pushing it after the night before, but he was nothing if not persistent.

"You can clean crumbs," Cas insisted. "Or you can clean grumpy." It made more sense in his head.

Cas was then presented with a plate of toast, which he was going to enjoy whether he liked it or not. It felt good, though, the crunch and the grease and the heavy, solid weight in his stomach that was just a lining for the coffee to sit on. Coffee which he noisily slurped, as Crowley started fussing in the bathroom.

"What did she find?" he asked. Or, he tried to. It sounded more like 'mmft mif mee mimf?' because of the food.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Crowley scolded. "And she found leaked, viral video of your good friend 'Marv'. Apparently he's in the miracle business now."

"He is?"

"Healing people. He's all quiet and unassuming, wearing clothes that look like they came from a thrift shop, and I suspect it's for the underdog vote. Which - when you consider he has most of the Host at his beck and call..."

"What do you think he's doing that for?"

"Honestly? Kicks. I think he gets off on people needing him. He was never really that important as an angel, so... I think he's another one playing God. But less classy than you."

"I was a terrible God," Cas said, wiping the crumbs from around his mouth and pretending he didn't notice the ones that fell to the bed.

"You were easier on the eyes, love. But I agree: we should leave God to God, and ram the First Blade where the sun don't shine."

"Is there more coffee?"

"After your shower. Come on, Cecily will be rounding up the other troops. Wouldn't do for the general to be too fashionably late to his own party."

Cas slid out from the bed, his feet grateful for Crowley's dedication to luxury and the plush carpet underfoot. "Just as long as I don't have to wear a uniform."

"...if you did, I might not let you leave for a few hours."

The ex-seraph paused in the doorway to the bathroom. "Oh?"

"Another time, oh Captain, my Captain."

"Yes. Because you still are on a promise."

"I'll collect it with interest tonight."

Cas decided that a quick shower was in order, and thankfully Crowley had got it just right.


	52. Chapter 52

The war table was a little more depleted this time, but everyone did at least look earnest. Cas supposed only those who really wanted to help would still be here, now. 

"Thank you all for coming," Crowley said, walking around the table with several cup-carriers full of assorted coffee drinks. "I didn't know everyone's choice, so I got the ones I did know, and then an assortment of coffee and a few cups of char because I think at least one other person here will recognise a superior brew of leaf-juice to bean-burn."

"He means tea," Cas said, to several raised eyebrows. "It is a provincial thing."

"It's a matter of taste," Crowley countered, settling beside him and bumping knees.

"Well, I know you like your Earl Grey, but you totes can't beat a peppermint mocha when it's cold outside," Cecily said, prising the lid from her takeout cup and swirling her finger through the remnants of the cream and foam. 

"I prefer my sugary coronaries to be in the form of cakes and biscuits, not drinks," Crowley replied.

"He means cookies," Cas translated again.

"Angel, if they can't work out what I'm saying for themselves, let them to their twisted knickers."

"I know precisely what _that_ means," Dean cut in. "But can we get down to business? Case you haven't noticed, we're low on numbers and even lower on wings. We got precisely two pairs, and all of continental America to cope with."

"Technically mine aren't-- right. Okay. Cecily, would you be a darling?"

On went the screen overhead. "As you can see," she said, using a laser pointer to indicate the angel who was studiously trying to appear camera-shy. "...Metatron is using the technology of the crowd to get his message out. He seems to be trying to appear humble, or selfless, but we suspect the entire sequence was staged down to the last detail. From this video, I've been able to track down where he last was, and where he seems to have made a camp amongst the homeless people."

"Why would he do something like that?" Gadreel asked. "This makes little sense to me."

"No, it does," Sam said. "He's just trying to appear... uh. Normal. Not the big, televangelism Bartholomew did, but the grass roots stuff. Get the people who have no hope whatsoever, build up a-- I guess you could call it a cult?"

"Oh, lovely. The last time a bearded scruffy man did that it was Dad, and then they executed him and proceeded to slaughter one another over the finer points of it for hundreds of years... he could at least have been original," Balthazar sniped.

"If it's not broken, don't fix it?" Hannah offered.

"So where does this leave us? We know where his hideout is?"

"Not... everything," Cecily said, and now she was looking pleased with herself. "When the group left yesterday, I... may have tasked some satellites and CCTV and other such monitoring software, and watched them until they received instructions showing them the way back to Heaven. Or... I assume Heaven. They went into some portal and didn't come back out, and April says she'd know if that many angels died all at once."

"Hey, they'd stink the place up like you wouldn't believe," the Reaper said with a shrug. "They're still alive and kicking."

"I think that if Metatron's power is coming from the angel tablet, that he would keep it safe in Heaven. Somewhere he didn't think anyone would look," Cas mused. "But we are limited to only angels and humans going to Heaven."

"Damn, here was me thinking you'd take me home to meet Daddykins," Crowley said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

"If he'd ever even seen me, I might, but even I never met him," Cas said, patting Crowley on the knee.

"So you're thinking we send someone - or several someones - up to Heaven to steal the tablet back?" Dean asked.

"Precisely that. But if he is on Earth, then... I probably need to go to him. I have the Blade, and the Mark."

"So you're going to stab our brother?" Balthazar asked, hands rubbing together. "How exciting."

"I would rather it did not come to that, but he has given me no choice so far," Cas answered. "If it is possible to overpower him, I will, but... he may go down harder than Bartholomew did."

"Who will be on which team?" Darius asked. 

"Crowley will go with me. April should go with the other team, so we have transportation on both sides, should all else fail."

"I always wanted to be a taxi."

"I'll go with her," Balthazar said, at once. "You know. Someone has to watch that delicious little ass of--"

Dean cleared his throat loudly, and the angel just smirked.

"I'll go with Cas and Crowley," Sam offered. "Dean, you fancy going back to Heaven?"

"Ain't everyday someone asks me that, but sure."

"Where would Hannah and I be of most use?" Darius asked.

"Well, I think we could do with at least one angel," Crowley said, "...but I'm not picky who. And the other can go to Heaven, then we've got even numbers?"

"I will go with you," Hannah volunteered. 

"And I'll man the hub," Cecily added. "I'll keep you all updated to the best of my ability, even if it's texts, calls and prayers. You... you can still hear a demon pray, right?"

"Yes," Darius said, reluctantly. "We can."

"Coolios. I promise I won't abuse it by flirting with you in front of your brothers and sisters." Her smirk was wide as the angel flustered briefly.

"Does anyone have any questions?" Cas asked.

"Just: when do we start?" Balthazar replied.

***

"This is where Cecily said all the angels came," April said, sounding dubious.

"A children's play area?" Darius said, even though they could all see full well what it was.

"I suppose it's hidden in plain sight," Balthazar offered. 

It was pretty public, Dean had to admit, and large numbers of visitors wouldn't be considered strange, only the fact that they were mostly full-grown adults. In the park were two angels, who didn't seem to have noticed them yet. One of them was in a child, which was all sorts of creepy and wrong, and made him feel a little sick. Wasn't it bad enough they were waltzing around in people to do their dirty work, but they had to steal someone's daughter?

The Hunter pulled back around the corner, so they were all hidden again. "So... do you know the Bates Motel wannabes?"

"Yes," Balthazar confirmed. "And I wish I didn't: Asariel and Purah, both of them were confirmed Metatron-fanatics last I checked. The pair of them are as dull as ditchwater, I'm afraid, and about as flexible as Gadreel is short.."

"I assume you mean my vessel," Gadreel said. "Which means we do not have a hope of persuading them."

"Got it in one, sugar. Not just a pretty face, are you?"

Gadreel didn't seem to react to the compliment. Dean wondered if all that time in prison had done a number on him, but he was just like Cas had been. Seemed angels came in all sorts of flavours, from the vanilla-by-the-book to the outrageously camp ones that seemed to be trying to beat Crowley at his own game.

"Would cracking a few knuckles work on 'em?" Not that Dean wanted to bust out those moves on a _kid_ , even if she was out for the count, it was the freaking principle of the matter. The 'adult', however... well they were probably fair game.

"Possibly, but we'd not be sure they weren't opening a portal to Purgatory, or worse, Wisconsin." Balthazar tapped his fingers to his lips, deep in thought.

"Reckon we can work out how the portal works? Or you think we need them?" The Hunter was not giving in so easily, not when they were right on the doorstep. 

"It will need to be subterfuge," Darius said. "Perhaps we could send through a small group, and perhaps April could attempt to get in close enough to witness the procedure, or those who go through open a door from the other side."

"Only one eensy, weensy little problem with that." Balthazar held up a finger and thumb squeezed almost to touching, to show how small it was. "We don't have a way to get the first few in."

"...we allow ourselves to be captured," Gadreel said, with a start.

"We... what?" Dean was not sure he liked the sound of that.

"We claim - rightly so - we tracked them down using the demon's technology, and we attempt to force our way in, and we allow ourselves to be overpowered and captured. They will take us in, and we will then escape."

"...you really want to be captured? You think that's a good idea?"

"It's the best one we have," Balthazar said, in Gadreel's defence. "And if we do get to overhear the spell to open the Gate, then the whole captured thing will soon be rendered moot anyway."

"...and who is gonna get captured, exactly?"

"...not me if I'm trying to sneak up all ninja-style," April said, sounding apologetic. 

"It will likely be more believable if you are one of the number, Dean, as Metatron must know what you are capable of, and the contacts you have."

"Yeah, way to volunteer me, Gadreel."

"...I did not mean to cause offence."

"Lighten up, my brosicle," Balthazar said, grabbing the taller angel by the back of the neck and shaking him slightly. "So who else wants to do some time in the slammer? You feel like going back? Must be very strange for you being out of the fishbowl after so long inside."

Dean saw how pale Gadreel went, then, and that didn't bode well for how great angel-jail was. Although, considering how long he'd been in it, Dean didn't find it that much of a surprise. "Don't all rush to volunteer."

"I will."

Dean was a bit surprised that Darius had stepped forwards, because he didn't know him other than Cas' cursory summation of: 'he is an honourable angel'. Cas had never really been one for rambling, though... unlike his boyfriend... and he guessed a rubber stamp from Cas was about as good as it got these days.

"Swell. I can see you two are glued at the hip... what is it with angels and their love interests?"

"Maybe we should hook you up with one of your own," April suggested. "Then you'd know."

"Uhm... that's a bit creepy."

"Why?"

"...well. I don't know if you remember, but your kind? Reapers? Yeah, you visit my kind more than you do angels. And I don't think I'd want to be just a quick roll in the hay for someone who lives forever."

April sighed dreamily, and Dean was not impressed with the way her eyes lingered on him "But what a roll..." 

"...you guys are all creeps, huh. C'mon. The sooner this is over with, the sooner I can shower."

"Nothing wrong with admiring physical beauty," April said, tossing her hair behind her ear. "I think Hannah would like you."

"Could we not?!"


	53. Chapter 53

"So, which one of you is Castiel, and which one is Crowley, and which one is Dean Winchester?" the woman asked.

"Sam, actually," the Hunter said, brow creasing in a frown. "How did you know--?"

"Marv told us you would be coming. He thought it would be Dean, not you." She seemed a little troubled by the mistake, and by the female angel in their company. 

"Did he tell you why?" Cas asked. 

"He said you were lost souls, and we should pray for you, as he prays for our forgiveness," said a gruff-voiced man.

"I suppose he did not tell you how he destroyed Heaven, or assassinated the Prophet's human mother, or slaughtered angels who did not wish to follow his rule?" Castiel's voice was shrill with barely-repressed rage.

"You can say what you like, but he's a miracle worker," the woman insisted. "He's cured people. He's done more for us than anyone ever has before."

"Of course he would." Sam shook his head in dismay. "He wants you to worship him, doesn't he?"

"We know he is the Messiah!" the man replied. "He's here to save us all. You and your kind are sinners, and unless you repent, you will not be saved!"

"He's not the Messiah, he's a very naughty boy," Crowley tutted. "But where is the hot air bag, I want to punch a few holes into him and hear him fart."

"Wait... is that..?" Sam wandered a little further away, where there was a large pool of blood and the silhouette of broken wings, charred into the floor.

The woman shuffled uncomfortably, her eyes flitting over to her companion.

"You killed an angel," Sam said. "You do realise that, right? You killed an angel, for another angel, who thinks he's God? What kind of God would approve of that?"

"He was trying to attack Marv!" the woman snapped back. "And we are sorry! He is praying for our souls, even now! He will forgive us. We are just humans. We don't know--"

"Don't know better?" Crowley cut in. "I'm afraid I beg to differ, there. Other than young children, or the severely mentally deficient, everyone knows that killing when not in self-defence is wrong."

"We were defending Marv!"

"If he's God, as you say, why does he need it?" Hannah asked, forcing her voice out. 

"We... we did not think..."

"Nope, you didn't. Or you did, and you didn't care. Trust me, I see all the sob stories and excuses down in Hell, but at the end of the day? Every one of you knew you shouldn't kill that poor sod, and you did it. Take it from someone who has done his fair share of sinning... you're never blameless."

"We will speak to him, now," Cas said.

"No... only one of you may approach him."

"Another one of his proclamations, is it?" Crowley snarked. "I think we'll be setting the bar for rebellion under this new regime." The demon snapped his fingers, and the small crowd of humans who had been approaching were all stopped in their tracks. "Uh-uh-uh. Scruffy-do isn't the only one with tricks up his sleeve. Sam, would you be so kind as to..."

Another snap, and assorted lead pipes, wrenches, an angel blade, one small pistol and a sawn-off shotgun all went flying into a pile. 

"...look after their things for us? We have a monster to slay."

***

"Purah, Asariel, you will unbar the door," Darius insisted.

The two angels turned slowly, their eyes narrow with distaste. "The door is barred to non-believers, Darius, and you made your choice."

"The door to Heaven must be open to all angel-kind, Asariel."

"You bring a human - the enemy. You are not working for the greater good."

"Yeah, well, whatever you say, pigtails, but we ain't going til you open that door. So be a good little gatekeeper and--" a sweeping gesture with his arms, "...lead on."

Sure enough, that was when the adult-sized angel moved, and moved fast. She had her angel blade up and pressed over his throat. She wasn't nearly fast enough, though, and if Dean wasn't trying to get himself captured, he would have done more than plant the elbow hard into her ribcage, winding her. 

"We'll open it, but only to take you to see Metatron," she hissed, obviously pained.

"You wanna do that? You wanna try diplomacy? Sure. We can do that," Dean said, still fighting the instinctual reaction to flip her over onto her back and knife her through the chest with her own weapon. 

"Leave the human, sister," Darius growled, and Dean had to say he sounded convincing.

"You are coming to Heaven, too."

***

Metatron was sitting, as if meditating, in the warehouse, on his own. His eyes were closed, and the expression on his face might have been called 'beatific' if it weren't for the air of condescension even now.

"Metatron. It is time to stop this. You are not God, you are not Jesus, you are an angel. An angel who has strayed. You can still redeem yourself. I have been there, and you can, too."

"An angel, a human, and a demon walk up to God... it sounds like the beginning of a very stereotypically insulting joke, you know."

"There is only one joke in here, and I'm looking straight at it, feathers," Crowley called out.

"Oh, you. Ever the charmer. I really don't know what you see in him, unless it's those extra three inches?"

" _Enough_ ," Cas spat out. "This ends today."

"Why? Why are you so - no pun intended but I'll take what I get given - Hell-bent on ruining things? You were the one who wanted to fix Heaven, Cas. And you know they need leaders... the way they all flocked to Bartholomew, to Malachai, to you... doesn't that tell you all you need to know? Look at little Hannah here. She's following you because she doesn't know better."

"That does not give you the right to claim you are God, Metatron."

"Why not? What's so bad about that? People have nothing. They have shitty, filthy, boring lives. They turn to fiction to escape from it, because the reality of their existence is so dire that living a false one seems better. They just want something to _believe_ in." 

"And you think that's you?" Cas asked.

An expansive shrug. "Why not me?"

"Because God is so much more than you or I could ever understand," Cas replied. "I was you, once. I thought I was doing the right thing - I actually believed it - I went into it with all the best intentions, and the Leviathans got the better of me. I did horrible things... and so have you."

"You had Remiel kill anyone who said no," Hannah said, her voice hushed and pained. "Even God did not kill angels. He cast Lucifer down, and he imprisoned others - like Remiel - but he didn't kill them."

"And then there's the trigger-happy crowd outside," Crowley added. "They were all ready to shoot us as soon as look at us. Now, I know I didn't exactly pass the whole 'goodness' test the first time I sat it, but even I know the difference between right and wrong. And this? This is wrong."

"I'm not 'wrong'. You have to break a few eggs to make an omelette. And God?" He snorted. "Do you have any idea how much pancake makeup and soft lighting it took to get God to work a rope line? He hated it. And, you know, humans sense that. So they prayed harder and longer and fought more wars in his name. And for what?! So they could die of malaria? Leukaemia? And all the while, blaming themselves! 'Oh, if only I'd been more prayerful, God would have loved me! God would have saved me!'..." He faked the voice, derision dripping from every syllable "You know what? God didn't even know their name! But I do. Because I've walked among them. And I can save them."

"You cannot save them by encouraging them to sin in your name," Cas argued. "You will be no better than Lucifer was."

"I'm sorry you believe that, I really am. I had hoped you'd take this chance to get out of heavenly politics, but you didn't. You had to come back into it, didn't you? You couldn't just take the out when it was offered... and now I'm going to have to punish you. All of you."

"I am sorry, too, but I cannot allow you to spread your lies any more." Cas nodded to Crowley, who reached into his jacket and pulled out the First Blade.

"Oooh, you got Cain's toy, then. Nasty piece of work, isn't she? Okay, let's say you win, and I die. What's the world left with then, hmm? A herd of panty-waisted angels, following a human marked with sin? Half out of your mind with Lord knows what pumping through those veins? The King of Hell as Heaven's co-pilot? A bunch of humans who can't even follow simple directions?"

Cas held out his hand for the Blade, not even wanting to dignify him with an answer. The minute his hand closed around the hilt, he could feel it. He could feel the burning need in him, like a circuit completed. 

"Not so fast... although I should warn you, as we speak, your little raiding party which - is it the diversion? Or is this? No matter. They've been intercepted, and they won't be running to your rescue."

Castiel wasn't going to listen to any more of his lies and deceptions, and he charged. The blood-mist over his eyes was too strong, and then he... then he hit some kind of brick wall made entirely of air, and he went flying into the wall of the warehouse.

"Cas!"


	54. Chapter 54

"Well, this is just lovely. I mean, as prison-cells go," Dean said.

"I have never been in one, human or angel," Darius said, from his cell just further along.

"You think they plan on keeping us here forever? Uh. I mean, if we don't get out? Just... there doesn't seem to be much in the way of human conveniences, and that's... inconvenient. They do remember I need food and water and... things?"

"You may ask our visitor," Darius suggested.

"Malachai?" Dean didn't know him well, but they'd met briefly. Everyone always seemed to forget about Malachai, he was always mentioned at the last minute, as an after-thought.

"I'm wondering why a Winchester and an angel are suddenly in Heaven's jail," the angel said, pacing the front of their cells.

"Well, we wanted to check up on you guys," Dean said, leaning on the bars. "Didn't know how you'd cope without us."

"Why are you here?"

"We were captured," said Darius, but Dean could hear the cautious question in his voice.

"Why are you _really_ here?"

"Listen, man, do you really buy that douche's God-crap? Really? You think he's the new Big Cheese, or you just seeing which cheese looks marginally more edible day by day?"

"If you are asking me if I am a believer in his cause... the answer is no. But I also believe in survival. And I think that, deep down, so do you. So the question is why were you so easy to capture?"

"You got me," Dean said, smiling a smile that wasn't happy.

"You have a plan. I want to know it."

"So you can report back to Metatron? Nu-uh."

"Dean. You are intelligent, so I am told. Do you really think Metatron would send someone as powerful as me to extract your plan? I want to know if I should be helping you or not."

"Then let us out, and take us to the Prophet, and the tablet," Darius asked.

Dean wondered if all angels were this freaking dumb. Really? He was going to believe that line from Malachai?

"Tablet?"

"...yeah. Angel tablet. Word of God himself. Reckon it's the source of all his ju-ju, and the key to unlocking Heaven properly. Get that, he's nothing but a jumped up little shit again, and you get to be lauded one of the saviours of the world," Dean said, figuring power and acclaim was the way to this angel's heart.

"And I could... I could read the tablet?"

"...but not keep it," Dean said, figuring offering the reading would be fine. After all, Cas hadn't been able to decipher it. "You don't need it though. Not if we get rid of Metatron. You'll be one of the big names."

Malachai was already unlocking Dean's cell when a harried looking April pulled in Balthazar and Gadreel.

"Oh, I see the rescue party wasn't needed, then?" the shorter angel asked. "Still. Can't blame the cavalry for being late. We had a bit of an altercation with the guard dogs."

"Nothing we couldn't handle," April said.

"I knew you had a plan!" Malachai crowed, as if this was news, and as if he was a genius for working it out. 

"You reckon you could tell April where Kevin is, and then take me and Darius to... wherever you think Metatron would keep important things?"

"Of course," Malachai agreed. 

Dean knew the prospect of the tablet would be too much for him to resist.

***

Cas was still seeing red, but for all the rage was building higher and higher in his chest, the pressure on his chest was crushing, and he was fighting with all his strength just to draw breath in. 

At the sudden cries of pain to the side, he looked on in horror as the angel and the demon both dropped to their knees, coughing up blood. Whatever power Metatron had, it was strong. Even Abaddon hadn't been able to stop Crowley in his tracks, and few things ever did. For a moment, Metatron was forgotten as Cas used the strength in his limbs to push towards his demon and his new ally.

"Ooh, so you get a new toy and a prison tatt and you're suddenly super-strong? For a human, anyway. Not bad, but I'm better. I'm better than all of you, and you're the best the world has to throw at me, from all three sides?"

"I will end you," Cas snarled, dragging himself step by painful step forwards. "I will gut you. I will rip you to pieces. I will reach into your vessel and pull out your spleen and force it past those lying lips of yours."

For once, Crowley was silent, but that was because he was hurling up sticky, bright red blood. Cas could smell it. He could smell the edge of death, and he could smell Metatron's blood, and he wasn't going to be happy until he was bathing in it.

"I don't think so. You're powered by the bone of a jackass, and it is just awesome, right? Here's a tip -- next time, try to be powered by the Word of God."

Metatron lifted Crowley and Hannah - still spluttering - clean into the air, their hands going to their throats as he choked them.

" **Put my demon DOWN**."

***

"Hello, hello, we're your rescue party," Balthazar said. "Pack your bags, love, it's time to go home."

Kevin jumped in surprise. "Gadreel?"

"And me, and April," Balthazar said, sounding aggrieved. 

"I didn't think anyone could find me!" Kevin said, and he suddenly launched himself at each of his saviours, one after the other. "Oh my God, it's good to see you."

"I am sorry it took us so long, Kevin," Gadreel said, when the Prophet had moved onto hugging the next person. "We did not know how to get into Heaven until today."

"You're here now! How's my mom?"

Gadreel tried not to wince, but it was difficult. He should have been prepared for the question, of course. "We will take you to her once we get out of Heaven safely," he said.

"Okay."

Somehow, Kevin didn't seem to sense the unease in the angel's voice, which was probably because he was so excited to get out of the prison cell he'd been kept in. 

"I'll fly you two back to the Bunker, and then try to catch up to-- babe?" April turned to look at Balthazar, who was turning steadily green.

"Change of plan. Take those two home, but then we need to help Hannah, Cas and Crowley, sweetheart. She's screaming out in terror."

"I'll be okay, if you need to go with them," Kevin said to Gadreel.

"If you are sure, then I will see if Dean requires my help. Malachai has... always been ready to switch allegiance if it suits his needs. I fear for Dean."

"Do it," Kevin replied.

***

"Cas, no," Crowley managed to croak out, past the invisible hand choking the afterlife out of him. 

Cas wanted to go to him. He did. But... if he was going to save him, it had to be Metatron. There was no time to pause, now, and there was nothing more important than killing him and saving Crowley and Hannah. His Grace would have to go with the Scribe, because...

He was right there, the Blade in hand, the perfect moment when he should see pain and fear and then nothing in Metatron's eyes. This was that moment. This was when he killed him.

Only... his hand stopped, and there was a hand wrapped around his wrist, stilling it. No matter what he tried, he could not budge. His feet started to slide backwards from the effort, and then out of nowhere, Metatron back-handed him. The slap was so hard, that Cas went flying backwards until he landed on his ass.

The Blade went down, too, clattering noisily off to the side, and Cas' stomach lurched. He needed it. He _needed_ it. Without it, he was incomplete. Without it, he was half of a whole. He reached for it, and called out sharply as a boot came down on his fingers, breaking them.

No. This wasn't how it ended.

He was supposed to kill Metatron.

Instead, the Scribe had him pinned against a wall, and his eyes were wide in horror.

"No," he hissed.

"I'm sorry, Castiel, but this is where your story ends. You see, you either win at being God, or you die."

Cas looked down. There was an angel blade in his heart, and although he wasn't an angel any more, it would kill him all the same. Somehow, some memory told him that the longer it was kept in place, the longer he would survive. If he wanted it to be over quickly, he had to pull it out. He did, or Metatron did. 

" **CAS!** " his demon screamed, the noise horrible and gurgling. " _ **YOU CUNT, I WILL END YOU AND MAKE YOU WISH YOU HAD NEVER BEGUN**_."

Cas appreciated the sentiment, but in a sort of pain-crazed, head-spinny way. Delirium, probably, endorphins from the wound. The last few moments of his life stretching out, that sharpened danger-sense making everything bright and slow.

"Crowley..."

"...ex-excuse me, I..." Metatron vanished, and dropped the demon and the angel to the floor.


	55. Chapter 55

"So, I have to congratulate you, it seems," Metatron said with his eyes narrowed 

"You're not dead yet, then?" Dean asked.

"How very observant of you. No, I'm not dead, but that's more than can be said of your friend Castiel. And - before long - the rest of you."

"Not without that, we won't," Dean replied, nodding to the dust on the floor that had once been an angel tablet. "And we'll fix Cas up. We always do." They would, because they did. Cas got nerfed somehow, and he always bounced back. From dead, from God, from crazy, from Purgatory... Dean wasn't too worried. 

"Not this time, you won't."

"Metatron, stop. We have destroyed the tablet. You are no longer all-powerful. Surrender."

"Why? The angels here all think I'm God. But I have to say, the Angel tablet -- arguably the most powerful instrument in the history of the universe -- is in pieces, and why?"

"To stop douches like you from using God's Word for all the wrong reasons."

"Haven't you heard? _I am God_."

"Without the tablet, you're not." Dean crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in the angel's chair.

"They'll never know. They'll never know what gave me the power, or that I don't have it. And even if they did find out, then what? They will do nothing because they are frightened little sheep following my crook wherever it leads. And where I'm taking them, back to our rightful place atop this mountain of human shame and excrement -- when that happens, trust me, they're not gonna care how they got there."

"We'll know alright, and we'll care," said Malachai, stepping up from behind Metatron.

"Malachai! My main man. My numero uno."

"Stop, Metatron. Your reign was based on fear, but we do not fear you any more. You used the humans, and you used your brothers and sisters, all for your own gain. We will not allow you to control us any longer," Gadreel said. "It is time we took Heaven back, and we returned to the job we always should have had: guardians of the moral law, and protectors of the weak. Not... despot rulers who want to lead for their own sake."

"Gadreel... without me, you'd still be in prison! Come on!"

"For that I will always be grateful, but I choose to believe it is part of His will, His decision to give me a second chance. And it was when I turned down your Heaven of murder and deceit that I became truly an angel once more." Gadreel walked towards Metatron and put a hand on his shoulder. "I believe my old cell is empty. It will serve you well."

"See, that's what I'm talking about," Dean said, with a little smirk. "This is how Heaven should be. You guys, and Cas. Not Michael and Metatron and Raphael and all those other douchebags. Real angels."

"...I think I should say 'thank you'," Darius replied, looking baffled. 

"You're welcome. C'mon. We need to go fix Cas."

"If... if we can."

***

The minute Metatron vanished, both Hannah and Crowley were by Cas' side.

"Heal, damn you, heal!" Crowley cursed at him, clutching at his arm but not shaking him for fear of shuffling him further along. "Why isn't it working?"

"I don't know!" Hannah replied. "I'm trying, but the damage... the damage should heal, but it's as though something is stopping me."

"What's happening?" Balthazar asked. "Cassie!"

"I-- I--" Cas dropped his head back against the wall. It hurt. It hurt badly, but in that strangely distant way. "Don't think... Crowley... sorry..."

Cas' blue, pained eyes turned to the demon, and he lifted one blood-soaked hand to brush his knuckles over his cheek. 

"Cas, don't go, don't frigging go, I can't--"

"Death is on him," April said, in a hushed tone. "I don't think there's anything we can do. We should go."

"You have to save him!" Crowley insisted.

April shook her head, and then her eyes went down to the Blade, then back to Crowley's.

"No..."

"It's stronger than any of us. Stronger even than my boss," she said.

"Get out," Crowley snapped. "All of you!"

Cas didn't know what was going on, just that it hurt, and he had to tell Crowley that he loved him. He had to. "Cr-Crowley, I--"

"I know, Cas, I know."

"Too late... make deal?"

"We'd never sign it in time," the demon quipped, though that wasn't the truth of it. The truth of it was even Deal Magic wouldn't cut through this. April was right: the bond of Blade and Mark was deeper and older magic than anything. It had existed before the first death, because it had caused it. There was no stopping this, now.

"...quickie?" the ex-seraph asked, and then coughed, and then winced, because it hurt like all Hell. "I'm... I'm sorry. I'm scared. I love you."

Cas felt an arm around his shoulder, and a cheek pressed to his. It felt wet. "I know. I love you too. I think... I think this isn't the end, though."

"Oh?"

"Cas, there's... there's a tale I heard, long ago. I thought it was just a pit-side story, one made up about all the fantastic things that being a demon had to offer you. It was about Cain. Apparently he was willing to accept death, rather than becoming the killer the Mark wanted him to be. So he took his own life with the Blade. He died. Except, as rumour has it, the Mark never quite let go..."

"Cain... Cain still... alive..."

"Not quite," Crowley said, kissing his temple. "Not quite alive, but close enough. Cas... do you trust me?"

Of course he did. The angel nodded, though it was hard. "Always."

"This is going to hurt one Hell of a lot, and I wish that was just a pun, and not the literal truth."

Cas groaned as Crowley pulled the blade out, and he felt his heart pushing out the last beats of blood from his body. Everything was going dark. Dark and cold. Distant. It hurt. It hurt so much, but then it started to fade.. fade into something else.

"Cain didn't die. He became the first demon," Crowley said.

Cas felt his life there one moment, then gone. Then nothing. Then...

"...kitten?"

Cas' eyes opened. They were black.


End file.
